


Lost and Found

by cfcureton



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Arrow - Fandom, olicity - Fandom
Genre: Alternative Universe - No Island, Eventual Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, F/M, John Diggle & Felicity Smoak Friendship, Mayor Oliver Queen, POV John Diggle, lots of Diggle and Felicity goodness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2018-12-31 06:45:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 32,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12126795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cfcureton/pseuds/cfcureton
Summary: Mayor Queen asks his bodyguard to find a mystery woman, and inadvertently sets John Diggle up for an adventure.





	1. Chapter 1

                                                              

 

Oliver Queen was really beginning to question his life choices. He'd gone to the trouble of cancelling his 5 o'clock meeting--plus his dinner meeting--and sneaking out the service door with the keys to his bodyguard's car only to be stuck in Starling City rush hour traffic. He pounded his fist slowly but forcefully into the steering wheel as the cars ahead of him inched forward in the late afternoon glare.

Nobody had ever promised that being the mayor of a major city would be easy, but lately the job seemed determined to kill him. He scrubbed a hand over his face as he thought of all the pressing matters he'd just abandoned on his desk in favor of a little freedom, yet here he was, far from free and only delaying the inevitable.

In the midst of his one-man pity party, movement in the car ahead of him caught his eye. A small female hand was sticking out of the driver's side window, making a wave motion as if it was dancing to music. His eyes shifted to the interior of the car and he saw a ponytail swinging back and forth as its owner very obviously butt danced to a song he couldn't hear.

Before Oliver knew it, a small smile had begun to form on his face. He shifted left in his seat and discovered that he could clearly see the occupant's face reflected in her side mirror. Petite, blonde, glasses, bright pink lips "oohing" along to the song with her eyes momentarily squeezed shut. He huffed a laugh.

The clenched fist of his brain began to relax as work worries drifted away and he let himself imagine for a moment about this girl. A professional...what? Up-and-coming star at a law firm? Accountant? Project manager of some sort? Traffic continued to creep forward as he pondered. He settled on lawyer, although they weren't usually his favorite people on the planet. She'd live in midtown in a loft apartment, with a roommate, maybe. His eyes flicked to the hand again, still dancing out the window, and he noted the lack of a ring on her finger. The confirmation made him weirdly happy, and his smile widened.

Jesus, you're a lonely son of a bitch, he scolded himself with a chuckle as the light changed and their turn line finally began to move in earnest. But his sudden uptick in mood quickly changed again when he realized they were reaching the intersection and the signal was switching to amber. Oliver looked on, horrified, as his mystery woman gunned her Mini Cooper and the little car zipped into the intersection just as the light changed to red. As she made the turn, something told him to look down, and he managed to read the license plate before she disappeared.

He sat there stunned for a moment, and then sprang into action, frantically searching for something to write with. He realized he was yelling a string of expletives as he searched the cup holders with no luck. He'd never spent any time thinking about the neatness of his bodyguard before, but it suddenly struck him as incredibly annoying.

A swipe of the pocket in the driver's side door finally produced a small spiral notebook with pen attached, and Oliver whooped in triumph. He scribbled down the number just as the light turned green again and he was serenaded by a chorus of honking behind him, but in his newly-intrigued state he hardly heard it.

\-----------------------------------------

John Diggle was in the mayor's office bright and early the next morning, his look hovering somewhere between mild annoyance and stoic resignation.

"Morning, Dig," Oliver offered, leaning back in his chair and turning on the charm.

"Mr Queen," the man returned, crossing his arms in front of him, presumably to deflect said charm.

"I appreciate you letting me use your car last night. It was...an emergency." The look leveled at the Mayor didn't change, save for one slightly raised eyebrow.

"I'm not sure "let" is the correct term," Diggle returned mildly, but said no more. The two regarded each other for another long moment before Oliver huffed a quiet laugh and rapped his knuckles on his desk.

"So yeah, thanks. Here's your keys," he held them out to be collected, "and also this."

Diggle's eyebrow shot up further, and he refrained from breaking eye contact with his boss as he stepped forward.

"Traffic ticket," he speculated.

"Ah, no. Another favor, actually."

Diggle received and unfolded a piece of paper, obviously ripped out of a small spiral notebook, and read the scribble. He flipped the sheet over to inspect the back before lifting his eyes to Oliver.

"License plate?"

"Correct. Think somebody could run that for me? Maybe get a name and an, um, address?"

The thousand year stare this man could deploy was impressive. Diggle's eyes eventually fell again to the paper and he flipped the back side up for Oliver to see.

"Need me to do anything with the fuel mileage log I'd been keeping on the other side," he asked wryly, already knowing the answer.

Oliver had the good sense to at least look chagrined. "Oops. Sorry, Dig."

The bodyguard's expression hardly changed, but he nodded and turned to go. As he opened the door to leave he hesitated, then turned back around, shooting the mayor a look.

"This wouldn't be about a woman, by any chance."

"It's classified," Oliver responded with the beginnings of a grin. Just the prospect of finding her had turned his whole day around.


	2. Chapter 2

Protecting the life and limb of a sometimes-willful billionaire was far from the worst job John Diggle had ever had, but it was no picnic. Since the man had become mayor six months ago the late nights on the party scene had reduced considerably, but Oliver still occasionally managed to give him the slip, which was a hell of a lot of paperwork. Not to mention embarrassing, especially considering that before this latest adventure he--a Special Forces vet--had been pick pocketed before having his car stolen.

Diggle fought down a wave of anger, keeping his expression neutral as he exited his boss' office with his "assignment" crumpled up in his fist. Oliver's nightly activities might have slowed down, but he was still a legend, and legends tended to leave the occasional mess to clean up in the form of hush money and non-disclosure agreements.

He huffed a sigh as he settled into the chair at the desk just off the elevator outside the Mayor's suite of offices. This part of the assignment would be so much easier if he had been there during the encounter--not BEEN THERE, John corrected himself immediately, because NO--but visual confirmation was the first step, and that is hard to get if you're wasting the evening trying to figure out where your responsibility--and your CAR--have disappeared to. 

John cradled the receiver on his shoulder and dialed his buddy at Starling City police from memory while simultaneously reaching for a piece of gum in his desk drawer. Billy picked up on the third ring and he briefly explained his request, then rattled off the plate number. That done, Diggle swiped a hand over his face and settled in to wait and watch; the glorified life of a bodyguard.

Shortly before lunch Billy called back with the info on the license plate. John jotted it down and thanked him--not before they'd shared a wry chuckle over the amount of speeding tickets the subject had collected through the years--then hung up and looked at the info in front of him for several moments. Felicity Smoak. Something about the name didn't exactly conjure up visions of short skirts and loose morals, but what did he know? 

Using his desktop computer, Diggle googled her name, for a start. No headlines, no scandals, just an article mentioning her name and a photo taken at a Gotham City IT conference of a young woman, blonde, glasses, hair pulled back in a ponytail and a lanyard and badge hanging over a conservative blouse. She was cute as a button (his grandmother's phrase came to him unbidden) and smiling, but something about the look in her eyes made him think she was, in that moment, completely overwhelmed and trying hard to hide it.

He clicked on the article that contained her name, and suddenly sat forward with a groan: It was from Starling City Magazine's latest addition of their "Top Thirty Under Thirty", and Felicity Smoak was number 22, a standout cyber security expert from none other than Queen Consolidated. Diggle pinched the bridge of his nose where a headache was threatening to start.

He checked Oliver's schedule for the rest of the day; a lunch with City Council, catered in the Conference room, and then solid meetings until 5:30, all in his office. Diggle rang building security to arrange for a guard to take his place and headed out on assignment. Time to pay this Ms Smoak a friendly visit. 

\-------------------------------------------  
It was only a few blocks from City Hall to the QC high rise, so despite the threatening skies John decided to walk. He was not a huge fan of big cities--too many things to keep track of at once--but Starling had a decent vibe. He covered the distance in long strides, enjoying, as usual, the sea of humanity mostly parting around him because of his looming size and demeanor. He was actually a man who loved to laugh, but in his profession a scowly exterior got him a lot further, so he had mastered the art of the intimidating stare. 

He was on the opposite side of the street from QC Tower, ready to cross at the light, when movement at the building's entrance caught his eye, movement that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. A glance at the stoplight told him the lights were about to change in his favor, but not soon enough, so he shouldered his way to the curb and jogged out into the street, a hand thrown out to an oncoming car that had already begun to slow for the impending red light. 

As his feet hit the sidewalk on the other side he pulled up, assessing the scene. The thing that had first put him on alert was the sight of two burly men in suits exiting QC, one on either side of a tiny blonde woman in a pencil skirt and heels, who seemed to be trying to resist them with little success. They half-marched, half-dragged her to the curb where a black town car with tinted windows sat, engine running. The backseat window lowered, and Diggle watched, body tense, as a heated conversation took place between the woman and the occupant of the car. 

He was poised to intervene, but before he could act the conversation abruptly ended when the window went back up. Just as thunder rumbled overhead, giving John a shiver of goosebumps, the small woman twisted violently in her captors' grasps, stomping down on the foot of one with a high heel, and wrenching an arm free to grab and twist under the jacket of the other. Both men doubled over, and John blinked rapidly in sympathy before he could help himself.

With her assailants otherwise distracted for the moment, the blonde spun on her heel and marched determinedly back into the office building, ponytail swinging defiantly. Diggle sucked in a huge breath as he suddenly made the connection, eyes flicking to memorize the town car's license plate as it pulled away from the curb: It appeared that someone had just tried to kidnap Felicity Smoak.


	3. Chapter 3

John Diggle badged his way into Queen Consolidated, where he was still technically employed. Up until his boss was sworn in as mayor he had worked here every day, overseeing the security of the entire Queen family, but handling the bodyguard duties of the heir to the empire personally.

He gave a friendly nod to the guard at the desk, then slowed up to survey the crowd around the bank of elevators, searching for Ms Smoak. People were coming and going, but none of them was an angry blonde. He relaxed into an at ease stance, hands clasped in front of him, and watched for her. A few minutes later she emerged from the first floor coffee shop around the corner to his right, a large steaming cup in hand; as she got closer he noticed that hand was shaking. 

She entered the next available elevator that happened to be empty, swiping her badge and punching in the floor number. John stood his ground, studying her face as the doors slid shut; she was mad, alright, but there were tears glistening in her eyes too.

Diggle watched the numbers light up as the car ascended, going straight to the 14th floor--IT--before stopping. He joined the knot of people waiting for the next elevator and mulled over the situation.

Oliver Queen, billionaire playboy and mayor of the city, had asked him to find this girl: Because of what he'd got up to last night with his bodyguard's stolen car? (John shuddered and made a mental note to have it detailed ASAP.) Or because of something else? 

She was definitely not in the bimbo category his boss usually went for, nor was she a leggy brunette, also his favored type. Diggle was as intrigued by Oliver's motivation as he was by the scene he'd just witnessed on the sidewalk. 

The elevator ride was uneventful until the car stopped on the eighth floor to admit Tommy Merlyn, who recognized him immediately. The new occupant's face lit up in a wicked grin.

"Mister Diggle." Tommy slapped a conspiratorial hand on his shoulder, dragging out the "Mister" a little too long to be meant respectfully. "How's the bodyguard to my favorite wingman?" (Diggle suppressed a snort at the idea of Oliver being anybody's wingman.) "Does this mean our beloved mayor is in the building?"

"Hello, Mr Merlyn. No, he's busy at City Hall. I'm here on an errand." This amount of formality shouldn't be necessary with a man who had vomited on his shoes on more than one occasion, but appearances needed to be maintained in their world. 

The car stopped at the 14th floor and John excused himself politely, earning a slap on the back hard enough to make a lesser man flinch. One of these days, he thought to himself. 

Tommy Merlyn was harmless enough, even charming in his own feckless way, but John Diggle had a deep and abiding dislike for his father, Malcolm. He didn't have any hard evidence besides a gut feeling that the elder Merlyn was trouble with a capital T, but he felt it in his best interest to keep a polite distance from the younger Merlyn, just in case. 

John stopped a familiar face to ask directions to Ms Smoak's desk and was waved to the far end of the floor. He used the walk to consider how to introduce himself once he found her: I couldn't help but notice you were almost kidnapped on the street a minute ago...Nope. Just checking to see if you had sex with the mayor last night--NO. You'd never believe who sent me to stalk you this morning--NOPETY NOPE NOPE. Diggle sighed in frustration and ran a hand down over his face as he approached the IT bullpen where QC's army of computer geeks spent their days simultaneously fighting off Chinese hackers and scrubbing porn from company laptops. He schooled his features into his best bodyguard scowl and forged ahead, still unsure of his opening line.

Felicity Smoak's desk was the first one on the right as he entered the bullpen, and he realized the scowl might have been overkill the minute his target glanced up at him, then slapped both palms on her desk as she stood and rounded the corner towards him, fury in her eyes. She ignored his personal space completely, and he fought the sudden ridiculous urge to take a step back, even though she barely reached his shoulder in heels. 

Without preamble she jabbed a blue-painted fingernail into his chest, emphasizing her words with a poke of her finger.

"If you THINK (poke) that one of my FATHER'S (poke) GOONS (poke) is going to intimidate ME (poke), then you'd better go ASK (poke) your other GOON BUDDIES (poke poke) how they're FEELING right about NOW." (Poke poke...poke.)

Diggle stood transfixed, fighting a smile. He managed to wrestle his face into submission, but his silence was obviously disconcerting to the blonde, because in the interim her angry gaze faltered, falling to focus on her finger still planted against his chest. She gave him one more poke, but this one had no bite to it, and almost felt apologetic.

"And furthermore you, sir, are very...solid," she finished lamely, eyes not meeting his.

He knew in that moment that he would love her forever.

"Felicity Smoak? I'm John Diggle," he said suddenly. He reached out for the hand that was still hovering near his chest and engulfed it in an awkward handshake. "I work for Oliver Queen. Have you eaten lunch?"


	4. Chapter 4

The fifth floor of Queen Consolidated Tower held a daycare, dry cleaner, Starling City Bank branch, and a food court. John Diggle watched Felicity Smoak plow through her hamburger and added "Not a Vegetarian" to the list of things he was learning about her.

"What does Oliver Queen want with me," she asked. At least that's what he thought she said; it was hard to decipher around her mouthful of burger. Felicity realized her error and gulped down the bite, blushing.

"Sorry! Rude."

"Mayor Queen has...noticed you, and he's interested in your...particular...skills." Diggle mentally palmed his forehead at the sentence, although it was the closest thing to a not-lie that he could come up with. 

She stared back at him, sandwich frozen in midair, obviously unconvinced.

"Top Thirty Under Thirty, no?" 

Her stare turned into a frown.

"My boss put my name in for that. I never would've put myself up for it. I didn't even break the top 20," she finished moodily, no longer looking at him, but then her eyes snapped back to his.

"Oh, that sounded ungrateful. I'm not! Really. I just thought something bigger would've happened in my career by this point."

"How long have you worked at QC," he asked.

"Eight months," she replied with a sigh, and he had to fight to contain his grin.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, and John spent the time putting pieces of this mystery together. She didn't know why Oliver would know her, so he could probably rule out any prior contact between them. (The Red Headed Twins Debacle notwithstanding, though Tommy would no doubt go to his grave denying that he'd doctored their drinks.) 

If his boss was interested in her skills--the IT kind, he reminded himself firmly--there were faster ways to find her through QC, and not with a license plate. Chances were, Oliver had no idea who she was or that she worked for his company. A piece of John Diggle didn't want him to find out, for her sake.

He suddenly made the decision to leave Oliver Queen out of the equation for now and switched tactics, clearing his throat before he began.

"I can't help wondering if your initial reaction to me had anything to do with what happened outside the building this morning," he began, eyes focused on his Cobb salad until the last second.

Felicity was in full-on Deer in Headlights mode, food forgotten as she stared at him in terror.

"You saw that," she asked breathlessly. John nodded.

Felicity pushed her plate away, looking as if she was preparing to jump up from the table and run.

"Mr Diggle, if you're here on behalf of a security investigation, may I just say that my father is a difficult man, but no harm was meant to any QC employees. In fact, he usually only does that stuff in front of my house, so..." She trailed off in horror, head ducking, as she realized her mistake.

John stared at the top of her head until she braved a peek up at him.

"You work for this company, Ms Smoak, so I would definitely say he intended to harm a QC employee." He took a breath. "And I'm going to make sure he doesn't succeed."

\--------------------------------------

Diggle jogged back to City Hall after spending the majority of the afternoon hanging around Queen Consolidated trying to look busy. It seemed doubtful (and Felicity had said as much a half a dozen times) that her father would try anything else while she was still at work, but John didn't feel like taking chances. Besides, all he had was desk duty to return to at City Hall, so why not spend the afternoon checking in with the other half of Oliver Queen's responsibilities?

As the end of the day loomed near Diggle met up with Felicity again, who was wrapping up her work. After a rather heated discussion that threatened to bring on the return of Felicity's Poking Finger, he convinced her to at least let him follow her home to make sure there weren't goons lying in wait. He left her long enough to retrieve his car from the City Hall parking garage, secure in the knowledge that today his car keys were in HIS pocket and not Oliver Queen's.

As if on cue, his phone chimed with a text, and John groaned inwardly when he read the message:

ANY LUCK WITH THE PLATE?

He slowed to a walk to reply back:

STILL WORKING ON IT.

Diggle cringed at the almost-lie, but he needed to wrap his head around the current situation with Ms Smoak and her father before he could think about pimping for his boss. Besides, bringing the mayor into a potentially dangerous situation was unthinkable. Calling it a security issue made him suddenly feel much better. He added:

JEFF WILL BE YOUR DETAIL AND IS TAKING YOU HOME TONIGHT.

There was silence from his phone as John picked up the pace again, and then he received one more reply:

RIGHT ON.

Diggle rolled his eyes as he jogged into the City Hall parking garage: RIGHT ON from Oliver Queen meant GAME ON. He sincerely hoped Jeff had eaten his Wheaties this morning.


	5. Chapter 5

"You're sure you don't have any questions."

"Yes. I was a little fuzzy until the fifth time you explained it, but now I'm sure I understand."

Diggle deployed his least amused look, but Felicity was giving it right back, in spades.

He opened the door to her Mini and she slipped under his arm to get in, but turned at the last minute and looked up at him.

"Do I need to do anything special to make sure I don't lose you in traffic?"

"So you did have a question," he deadpanned, and was rewarded with her poked out tongue. He huffed a laugh. "Just drive like you normally do. I'll keep up," he assured her. Her speeding ticket record flashed through his head and he quickly added," But stay under the speed limit."

Felicity shot him a quizzical look but nodded and climbed into her car. He shut her door and strode to his vehicle waiting nearby.

As she made the final turn onto her street John called up her mobile number on Bluetooth and waited for her to answer. 

"Don't hang up," he reminded her.

"I know," she sing songed in annoyance, and he would've laughed if he wasn't so busy scanning the street ahead. 

The Mini slowed as they approached her block, and he was pleased to see she was doing a good job of making it look like she was scouting a parking space and not looking out for bad guys.

He heard her sigh over the car's speakers.

"I think it's clear..." she started to say, just as a man in a black trench coat stepped out between two parked cars with a gun raised at her windshield.

"FELICITY, GO!"

Diggle barked out the order just as Felicity shrieked in surprise, but she stomped on the gas and shot past the man before he could fire. Later Dig would wonder whether she had heard him and obeyed, or just acted on instinct.

John hit the gas too, speeding down the street and clipping the man who had turned to follow Felicity's car and wasn't prepared for her to have brought a friend. It was a glancing blow, but enough to spin him around and knock him to the pavement. 

She must have seen it happen in her rear view mirror, because she shrieked again just as the man whumped off his car.

"Go go go," he yelled, catching up to her at the end of the street as she skidded around the corner. He kept an eye out behind them for pursuing cars, but the street remained quiet. John blew out a breath and prayed that no nosy old ladies had happened to be looking out the window just then.

He could hear her panted breaths as they drove, but otherwise she was silent.

"Felicity, head to the rendezvous point. I'll be right behind you." The silence continued, so he finally spoke her name again, a little louder.

"Yavin Four, got it," she finally answered, a little shakily. Diggle chuckled in surprise and shook his head, eyes still flicking to his rear view mirror.

\----------------------------------------  
During their afternoon strategy session John had offered Big Belly Burger as a good rendezvous point in the event that Felicity's house was compromised. The fact that his sister-in-law happened to work there was just a coincidence. It was also highly coincidental that his sister-in-law was a widow and she and John had been casually dating for a few weeks now. He did not offer this information to Felicity during their strategy session. Besides, it was Carly's night off.

Now he was sitting across from his new blonde partner in crime, who was attacking her Big Belly Buster with no less enthusiasm than she'd shown for her food court hamburger at lunch. John looked on in amazement.

"I can't believe you're eating that," he said with a shake of his head.

"You're eating one too," she protested, making a pouty face.

"I ate a salad for lunch," he pointed out. Felicity narrowed her eyes at him and took a huge bite out of an onion ring. Diggle laughed. 

"It's okay," he conceded, "I remember being 25 and having the world's fastest metabolism. Enjoy it while it lasts."

"I'll be sure to enjoy it when I get to 25," she countered with a smirk. Diggle's eyes got wider.

"How old ARE you, anyway," he asked. 

Felicity shrugged. "22--this year." Diggle looked impressed and she grinned at him before biting into another onion ring.

"So what happens now," she asked around a mouthful of onion and breading.

John sighed. "I don't think it's safe for you to go back to your house tonight, especially after, you know," he left off the end of his sentence, but Felicity nodded along, eyes gone wide.

"I also need to know what's going on between you and your father," he continued. "I need to know what I'm fighting." This last comment was directed at his fries, and when he glanced up she had a look of complete admiration on her face.

"Mr Diggle, I--" He held up a hand to stop her.

"Please. My friends just call me Diggle. Or Dig."

She grinned lopsidedly at him.

"Diggle, I don't know how to thank you." It was her turn to look down at her food. "And I will tell you what's going on, but not here."

John pushed aside his empty burger basket, then balled up his napkin and chucked it inside before leaning back in his seat and folding his arms across his chest.

"Well then, I guess you're coming home with me tonight."


	6. Chapter 6

As head of the Queen Family's personal security, John was entitled to a cottage on the estate, which he used most days. But on his days off he often stayed in the one bedroom apartment he kept in the city. Kept probably wasn't the right word, as that implied that he had acquired it as a secondary residence instead of simply being unable to let go of it after his ex wife moved out.

But whatever the circumstances surrounding its existence, it was pre-war, rent-controlled, and close enough to the Glades to be affordable without actually being IN the Glades. John liked to spend his time there playing the guitar (badly) and refinishing furniture (moderately well and improving). He had also recently signed up for online classes towards a Private Investigator license, which he planned to pursue over the winter when it got dark early and he couldn't go on his long runs.

He gave Felicity the ten cent tour, then disappeared into his bedroom to change into a tee shirt and sweatpants. When he emerged Felicity was standing in the living room looking down over herself with a mopey expression.

"I can't wear this to work again tomorrow, especially if I have to sleep in it tonight," she said sadly. John regarded her for a moment, then stepped back into his bedroom, emerging shortly with a Starling City Rockets tee shirt which he laid on the back of the couch.

"I don't think it's safe for you to go to work tomorrow, especially after what they were bold enough to try today. But I will go over to your house and check on things and bring you back some clothes, okay?"

She smiled uncertainly at him but nodded, taking up the shirt and slipping into the bedroom while he headed for the kitchen.

"Want a beer," he called out, head already in the fridge.

"No thanks, I'm more of a wine drinker myself," she hollered back. He heard water running in the bathroom, so withheld his next comment until she'd emerged, face scrubbed clean and the hem of the giant (on her) tee shirt pulled down in her fists. 

"I think there's some wine in there too," he offered, motioning over his shoulder to the kitchen with his beer bottle from where he stood leaning against the doorway. She padded past him into the kitchen on bare feet and he turned to follow.

"The Queens hand it out like bottled water at Christmas, but I don't care for it, so it just sits here."

He reached up into the cabinet above the fridge and handed one, two, three bottles down to Felicity, who juggled the first two, then had to scamper to the kitchen table to deposit them before accepting the third.

"Dig," she breathed, staring at the label of the third one, "do you know what this is? It's a Lafite Rothschild 1982!" The awe in her voice made Diggle peer over her shoulder at the bottle to see if he could figure out what made it so special.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure Oliver was drunk when he gave me that one. I remember something about him celebrating after winning a scavenger hunt." They exchanged an amused glance and she carried it reverently to the table before selecting one of the other--still very nice--wines.

"You're not going to drink it," he asked, handing her a corkscrew and a wine glass.

Felicity shook her head fiercely, eyes never leaving her task. "No sir! That baby has to wait for a special occasion. 'Wednesday' does not count as special."

John chuckled and shook his head. "Suit yourself, but it's yours whenever you want it."

She threw him a grateful look over her shoulder while she filled her glass.

John turned the television on to a basketball game just for the background noise, then settled on the couch and put his feet up. Felicity perched at the other end, shirt pulled demurely over her knees. 

"So," she began, taking a swig of wine for courage before continuing, "my father is not a good person, as you can probably imagine."

Diggle nodded slightly, but remained silent.

"He left my mom and me when I was little, and I assumed I would never hear from him again, but after my mom spent all those years working three jobs to get me into the best schools and even MIT--" she glanced up at him under her lashes when he gave a low whistle--"he somehow found out about my computer skills and decided to come back into my life."

At this point Felicity stood up and paced, wine glass in hand.

"While mom was waiting tables in Las Vegas and I was doing my homework in employee break rooms, he was making his fortune in Silicon Valley start ups. We never saw a penny of that, of course." By her tone of voice, Diggle could tell the wine was starting to loosen her up. 

"Eventually the start ups stopped making him money, so he moved on to more lucrative, and less legal, ways to make it. Like contracting his hacking skills out to the Russian mob."

Diggle gave another low whistle, this time out of concern instead of respect.

"Bratva?"

Felicity nodded, draining her glass and heading back into the kitchen for a refill. She returned and set her glass on the coffee table, then resumed her pacing in front of the game.

"He showed up one day on campus, a week before graduation, and offered to set me up with everything I needed--a house, car, designer clothes--if I'd come work for him. He never would explain exactly what he did, so I asked for some time to think about it and used that time to research the hell out of him." 

"Why is he so intent on getting you to work for him," John asked, pulling his feet off the table and leaning forward to rest his arms on his thighs. 

"At first, just for bragging rights, I guess. I think he likes the idea of creating an empire with his daughter." She snorted her derision at the idea and returned to her wine glass. "But recently he got in over his head on a job for the Bratva, and he's convinced I have the skills to solve his problem." Felicity shook her head vehemently. "But I know that once I get in, even as a favor to my father, I'll never get out again."

She turned pleading eyes to her new friend. "I've worked too hard to get this far, with a company I love, to throw it away because my father's an idiot and a bully."

With that, the second glass was gone; a flush had appeared on her cheeks, and she crossed the room carefully to once again perch on the edge of the couch.

Diggle rubbed a hand over the back of his neck in thought, then set his now-empty beer bottle on the table with a decisive thud.

"Okay," he said. "Let's get some sleep, and tomorrow we'll get to work figuring out a way to say "No" to your father in a way he'll understand."


	7. Chapter 7

John woke at 3am, dressed in the dark, and slipped out of his apartment past Felicity, who remained sound asleep on the couch. If her father had placed a 24 hour watch on her house, this was the best time to go in, while the night shift was sleepy and before the morning shift arrived.

He hadn't bothered borrowing her house key, because he wasn't going in the front door anyway. Diggle wasn't really concerned about getting in; his only worry was that he would find someone waiting when he got in there. That part could sometimes be noisy.

John had quizzed Felicity lightly while they worked together to make up the couch, and in her slightly tipsy state she probably didn't even realize what he was asking. Yes, her street was pretty quiet; mostly older people with cats. There was one dog, Murphy, who lived nearby, but he was so old he was completely deaf. Yes, she blushed in embarrassment, she hardly ever remembered to lock her windows.

He parked three blocks away and finished the rest on foot, circling around to the alley before he crossed the final street. He counted down four units, keeping to the shadows, and spent several minutes watching for any movement inside her darkened townhouse. 

Diggle had his cell phone turned on, in case of emergency, but had both the ringer and vibrate turned off; he'd received too many 3am drunk dials from Oliver Queen to take any chances. 

When six minutes had ticked by with no sound or movement from anywhere, Diggle slipped across the alley to Felicity's kitchen window and gave it a tug; Thank God for replacement windows, he thought to himself, as the vinyl sash went up without sound or protest. He made a quick mental note to complete a thorough safety check of this house with his girl when all of this was said and done. She probably didn't even have a fire extinguisher.

For a big man he could move incredibly lightly and quietly when necessary. He was through the window and on the floor without even brushing the potted fern on her windowsill. Another four minutes of silent waiting assured him that if anyone was in here with him, they still thought they were alone.

Slowly and carefully he checked each room, ready to drop a body if necessary, but apparently Felicity's father didn't expect her to have found any help at this point, because her house was empty and undisturbed. He stopped to consider the man he had hit with his car; was it possible they thought it was an accident? He'd have to ditch his vehicle for the time being, to be safe. There were several guys in the security detail who would loan him a car, no questions asked. 

Diggle spent the next few minutes sorting out Felicity's wardrobe requirements, which was hella tricky in complete darkness. Luckily she had a walk-in closet; once he was inside he allowed himself a penlight to navigate. He tried not to forget anything, because he didn't want to have to repeat this visit if he'd overlooked something crucial. 

He slipped into the bathroom and gathered up her essential toiletries, then paused in the living room long enough to retrieve her laptop and a key ring full of jump drives, per her request. Everything fit in a duffle that he could sling over his head. 

John took one last look around, carefully scanning out the front window until he saw a shadow move in the house for sale across the street. That would be the guy they put on her place, and he would be the only one, Dig decided, because no one would expect Felicity not to use the front door when she eventually returned. He allowed himself a tight-lipped smile; it was going to be fun showing them the error of their ways. 

\---------------------------------------  
Diggle was back in his apartment with twenty minutes to lay down before he had to call in sick to his boss, who was Oliver Queen himself. He sent it as a text, because he wasn't sure how to make his voice sound like he had food poisoning in a phone call.

Twenty minutes of cat napping after that he heard rustling in the living room and knew that Felicity was up and about. He emerged from his room and leaned against the wall while he watched her dig through the duffle on her knees like it was Christmas morning.

"Laptop, drives, sneakers,..." she murmured to herself, having not yet noticed that she had an audience. She continued to paw through the bag, oblivious, until John felt like a weirdo for watching and coughed politely.

"Oh, there you are! When did you get this stuff? While I was asleep?" He nodded once, a small smile on his face, and she chattered on. 

"I was probably snoring and woke you up," she mumbled into the bag, sorting through the stuff at the bottom. Presently she came up with a triumphant "Ha ha!", a bra in one hand and underpants in the other. She twisted around at the waist to wave them at him.

"A matching set? Who ARE you?"

He pushed off the wall with a nonchalant shrug, trying to hide his pride. "I was married once. I paid attention."

She scampered off to the bathroom with her belongings clutched to her like they were gold, and John set about making breakfast.

Felicity was munching through her second piece of toast when she flipped open her laptop and requested his WIFI password. He waved her to the wireless router hidden behind his television and then endured a ten minute lecture on proper placement for maximum bandwidth. Before he had finished his first cup of coffee she had reorganized his media set up and defragged his computer.

By 7:30 Felicity was ready to roll in search of her father. Diggle watched her fingers fly over the keys like they had a life of their own. He also discovered, with mild alarm, that she seemed to have no trouble--or compunction--hacking into police databases and traffic cameras, both of which she used to run searches for her father's recent whereabouts. 

She was mumbling something under her breath about how all town cars looked alike when Dig suddenly remembered the license plate he'd memorized. He rattled it off to Felicity and she pulled up the info almost instantaneously. Billy should be embarrassed, he thought to himself. 

"It's registered to Kord Industries," she stated, shooting him a look. Dig rubbed a hand over his face as he studied the screen.

"Your father works for our boss's biggest competitor," he said slowly. "There aren't any Smoak's on their Board though," he continued, mulling it over.

Felicity shook her head quickly.

"My father's last name isn't Smoak; it's Kuttler," she corrected, and watched as Dig's eyes slowly dropped to meet hers.

"Noah Kuttler?" She nodded solemnly. "THE Noah Kuttler is your father." He was starting to sound like he had a head injury, he knew, but this was too important to misinterpret.

Felicity nodded once more, her eyes fixed on his. "What are you thinking?"

I'm thinking the Senior Vice President of Research and Development for Queen Consolidated's biggest rival wants his IT genius daughter for much more than a Bratva side job. I'd say he's interested in corporate espionage."


	8. Chapter 8

John stared at Felicity for a long long moment while she processed the idea that her own father might want to use her to spy on her employer.

She was just opening her mouth to speak when her phone pinged with an incoming message. As if she was underwater she reached around beside her to retrieve the device, eyes tracking somewhat slower than her hands.

What she saw on the screen seemed to snap her out of her stupor, because she frowned before glancing back up to John.

"It's from my father. It's an attachment."

His eyes dropped to the screen as if the phone might explode in her lap, and they both stared at it for a minute.

"Is it safe to open," he asked, never taking his eyes off of it. 

"My firewalls are extremely strong, so probably, although he's a really good hacker." She glanced up at him, her eyes glinting with pride. "Almost as good as me."

Diggle laid a hand on her arm, a signal to wait, then got up and disappeared into his bedroom. He returned in a moment with a small box containing a brand new phone, which he held up for her to see.

"For emergencies," he explained in response to her wide-eyed look. 

"Who ARE you," she mouthed silently, and he huffed a laugh.

"Can you email that attachment without harming your phone," he asked, powering up the burner. She nodded.

"Where do I send it?"

He gave her the address and she typed it in with a raised eyebrow.

"It's a dummy email account I give out for my spam and junk mail to go to. Because that stuff is annoying. It's not connected to anything else. And if your father's embedded that attachment with something that can track the device it's opened on..." he waved the burner at her to finish his sentence.

A slow grin spread over her face and she fist bumped him before forwarding the attachment. Then she laid her phone on the coffee table and reached for the burner.

"Here goes nothing," she said under her breath, tapping on the attachment icon.

John knew he should be looking at the screen, but he found himself staring instead at Felicity's profile. He watched her eyes scan the screen, a sudden frown taking over her features.

"What the hell..." she breathed, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose. She shot him an exasperated look and waved the phone around in his general direction.

"It's an EVITE!! How lame is THAT?!?"

Diggle cursed under his breath, running both hands over his head.

"I am too old for shit like that," he warned, glaring at her. "My heart won't take it."

"Sorry, Dig," she replied distractedly, laying a hand on his arm as she began to read the invitation out loud.

"Felicity Smoak and John Diggle are cordially invited to lunch at Table Salt today at 12 noon. No RSVP required."

They locked eyes for a long moment and John sighed.

"Well, I guess they know about me."

\----------------------------------------  
"I have to get rid of the car," he said, reaching for his cell phone and heading to the kitchen as he dialed. Felicity continued to stare at the burner phone, obviously trying to process what she was reading.

He paced the small space while the call connected, and almost immediately a medium-deep voice answered, "Frank."

"Hey man, I need a favor," he began. 

The Queen family had trackers in their phones, and he had already checked to confirm that Oliver was on his way to City Hall for the day, while Thea had not yet left the mansion. Or probably her bed, he thought wryly. That meant Frank, her regular detail, should be free to help him out.

Frank was not a physically imposing man, and had no discernible sense of humor, but he was a hell of a bodyguard and a good friend, and John knew that he would help him out, no questions asked. 

Diggle made arrangements to meet up, then ended the call and headed for the bedroom. He came back out with a leather jacket and a baseball cap in his hand. Noticing that Felicity seemed to be in shock, or denial, or both, he came around the sofa to crouch in front of her. He placed a hand on her knee.

"I'm going to trade cars with a buddy of mine, and then I'll be back and we'll decide on our next move. Okay?" Her head flew up then; her eyes were panicked.

"Dig, if they found your car they can find this apartment. What if they--"

He cut her off with a squeeze of her knee.

"They can't find it, Felicity. It isn't in my name. It isn't connected to me at all. You're safe here until I get back."

"But, how..." she began, fingers reaching out for him as he stood to go. He paused and winked at her.

"I'll explain it all later, but let's just say my ex wife has connections."

She nodded finally and let her hand drop.

"Keep looking for your father; I'll be back as soon as I can."

\-----------------------------------------  
It was a 30 minute drive to the meet-up point, including a quick detour past the harbor to give the burner the heave-ho, and John used the time to strategize. More specifically, to try to decide if and when he should bring his boss into the loop.

On the one hand , Oliver was the only reason he even knew Felicity Smoak's name, and it was at his initial request that John now found himself hip-deep in her problems. Problems that appeared to also concern Queen Consolidated; John had to admit that it might be useful to have help from the considerable wealth and resources available to the Queen family.

On the other hand, it could be argued that a woman with sinister ties to both Oliver's rival company and the Bratva should probably be swipe left material for the mayor of Starling City. He rolled his eyes, because he knew warning Oliver Queen off a bad idea was a good way to push him right into it.

John adjusted the baseball cap with a sigh. He'd brought it along to confound any traffic cameras, because if Felicity could access them as easily as opening a book, then her father probably could too. But there was nothing he hated more than wearing a hat. He only had this one because he'd once accompanied Oliver and Tommy to a baseball game and Tommy had bought it for him as a joke. John had to concede that sometimes the man's impulse control problems actually came in handy.

Frank was waiting at the exchange spot, leaning against his car with his hands in the pockets of his trench coat. One of those hands would be holding a gun (and knowing Frank, probably both), because John knew it sounded like he'd been compromised, and Frank wouldn't take any chances, even if they were friends. 

Diggle kept his hands away from his body without looking like he was doing just that, and quickly explained his current situation. Besides a rueful shake of his head when he heard the word Bratva, Frank didn't react. 

When Diggle had run out of things to say he fell silent, swiping a thumb across his upper lip while he watched his colleague digest the information.

"Are you going to tell the boss?"

Diggle sighed heavily. "Not until I have to."

No reaction from Frank. Sometimes it was like talking to a gargoyle.

"Do you need my help?"

"Man, I wish I knew, but can I re-assign you to the house today, just in case?" If he wasn't looking after a specific family member it would be easier for him to slip away if he was needed later. 

Frank nodded once before pulling his right hand out of his pocket and tossing him the keys to his sedan. The gun must've been in his left, John thought wryly. 

Just before he opened the car door he called out, "How did Jeff do last night?"

Frank paused, staring off into the distance, one corner of his mouth twitching up.

"He caught up with Mr Queen eventually."

Diggle shook his head and chuckled. It appeared that Frank had a sense of humor after all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is where we meet Noah Kuttler; thought I should mention that his characterization in this story strays a bit from the tv version.  
> Because this Noah has ties to some bigger and badder things, I needed to supersize the evilness about him (although he ended up a little more Grand Moff Tarkin than I was expecting.) You will hate him, but hopefully in a good way. ;)

Despite driving a clean vehicle, John kept the hat on for the trip back; no need to give himself away immediately. As further insurance he parked in a garage a few blocks away and kept the bill pulled low while he walked. 

As he let himself into the apartment Felicity flew up from the couch without a word and launched herself across the room at him, tackling him in a hug.

He wrapped an arm around her and held her to him without question, just breathing in the raspberry scent of her shampoo. When she began to tremble he realized that she was straining on her tiptoes in an attempt to reach her arms around his neck, so on impulse he wrapped his other arm around her and lifted her up off the floor until his mouth was even with her ear.

"I'm here. I've got you," he soothed quietly and felt her nod against the side of his head. 

John eventually set her back down and she pulled away, rounding the couch to perch at the edge of a cushion.

"Did you get the car switched," she asked.

"I did, and I have a bit of back up on standby, in case we need it." Felicity nodded, trying to look optimistic, probably for his sake. She reached out for her phone on the coffee table and fiddled with it on her lap, just to keep her hands busy, he guessed.

John checked his watch; it was going on 11 o'clock. If they were going to meet up with Noah Kuttler they'd better be moving.

He joined her on the couch and she looked up at him right away, studying his features as if trying to read a crystal ball. 

"I have friends that can get you clear of this," he began, "permanently. But you'd have to start over, with a new identity and everything. Or we could meet with him and listen to his terms and then decide. He's set up a public meeting, which means he probably doesn't plan on causing us harm at this point. He's a crazy son of a bitch, no doubt about it, but probably not crazy enough to try anything where he can be so easily recognized." Dig paused, then added, "I will play this either way you want."

Felicity bit her lip and grabbed for his hand. She looked so tiny and lost in that moment it made John's throat tighten.

"Running away feels safer, but it also feels like losing, and I don't want him to win." She took a big breath and blew it out. "I think we should go."

Diggle nodded once, letting go of her hand to slap his thighs.

"Okay then. Go get yourself changed and I'll let Frank know."

\----------------------------------------  
They took both cars, but Diggle pulled into a parking garage a few blocks shy of their destination and then climbed into Felicity's Mini when she reappeared after circling the block. He wedged his big frame into the passenger seat with a frustrated sigh.

"If this friendship is going to last we'll need to have a talk about you buying a bigger car," he grumbled, which startled a snort out of her. She flashed him a tight grin.

He instructed her to pull up to the curb for the valet parking, and they exited the car. Felicity had paired yesterday's pencil skirt with the one blouse he'd grabbed during his middle-of-the-night-adventure in her closet; she looked great. Her hair was up in a businesslike ponytail, and her expression was as serious as a heart attack. 

As she came around the car to the sidewalk he intercepted her keys and handed them off to the valet with a murmured word in his ear and an obscene amount of cash pressed into his palm. Then he gestured for Felicity to go ahead of him into the building.

Table Salt sat on the top floor of a very prestigious building full of high-end stores and luxury apartments. John snagged them an empty elevator.

"The valet's going to leave your car on the curb. In case we need to get out fast." John glanced over and caught her wide-eyed look. He suddenly turned her to face him, grabbing both of her hands and squeezing firmly.

"Felicity, if everything goes wrong in there I will get you out, but probably not without landing us on the evening news. I need you to stay calm and focused, and to follow my lead. If I give you an order you obey it, no questions asked." He glanced down at her footwear. "That includes ditching those heels if we have to run." 

Despite his intentions, his speech sent her into full-on Deer in Headlights, and he cursed under his breath.

"Felicity, look at me. Are you seeing me?" She nodded ever-so-slightly. "Do you remember how you felt when those goons had ahold of you outside QC yesterday? How you came at me when we first met? I need that girl back right now, Felicity. I need you fierce." He held his breath, searching her eyes, and suddenly it was back; a spark of anger glinting where paralyzing fear had been before.

"There's my girl," he breathed, smiling at her as the elevator settled to a stop beneath their feet. He dropped her hands and took a step back to let her exit ahead of him when the doors opened.

"Show time," he murmured.

\-------------------------------------------  
Noah Kuttler sat, almost enthroned, in the middle of the restaurant. He was at a table with two empty chairs, and he had made sure to be in the seat that gave him the view of all the exits. Diggle felt a stab of concern, but took the seat to Kuttler's right, leaving Felicity on her father's left and just out of Dig's reach. 

"I can't tell you how nice it is to have you both join me for lunch." Kuttler's voice was soft, almost musical; John got the distinct impression that he never had to yell to get what he wanted. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Diggle."

"What is the matter with you," Felicity hissed at him under her breath. "You abandoned me once, can't you just leave me alone now? Let me live my life." Diggle watched her without moving an inch, wondering if his pep talk in the elevator had maybe worked a little TOO well. 

Kuttler smiled so indulgently it was like she had just showered him with compliments. 

"I'm truly sorry I let so much time pass before I found you again. You are a delight. Just like your mother."

Felicity practically growled in anger, but the arrival of their server prevented what had promised to be a very colorful rebuttal.

They placed their orders--John made sure to choose something that would come with a steak knife--and then Kuttler folded his hands on the table and smiled at them like he hadn't a care in the world.

Just then, movement off to his right caught John's eye, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. A slim brunette glided through the dining room toward the exit, the self-confidence of her brother and the poise of her mother compelling all eyes to turn her way; Thea Queen had just finished having lunch at Table Salt.

John let a very descriptive curse loose inside his head and twisted away on the pretense of retrieving an errant napkin, hoping against hope that he hadn't been spotted.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to take a second to say THANK YOU for all the lovely comments after each chapter! It's so much fun to read about your favorite parts and your speculations. I'm having a blast with this story! :)

If Noah Kuttler noticed Diggle's attempt to make himself momentarily invisible, he showed no sign. His eyes remained fixed on his daughter, who silently fumed in the seat next to him.

"The key to cooperation is motivation," he said, softly but clearly. "I've tried money, and that didn't work." He paused to look down at the table, unfolding his hands to brush an invisible crumb away. 

"Yesterday I was prepared to offer you a large amount of shares in Kord Industries--it's been a very good year for us--but your little performance outside Queen Consolidated made it clear you were no longer interested in doing this the nice way." Kuttler paused to give Diggle a meaningful look and added, "Some of her language could blister paint."

John's eyes flicked to Felicity, who was blushing fiercely and looking as if she might lunge at her father any moment. He himself remained stone-faced, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Lunch arrived before the shoe, and Kuttler seemed uninterested in saying more until he'd eaten. A heavy silence, charged with Felicity's barely-contained rage, settled over the table. John ate sparingly, preferring to imagine all the different ways he could do damage with a steak knife undetected in a public setting. 

Kuttler finally set his utensils on his plate and dropped his hands in his lap, sending a silent signal to the wait staff.

"Did anyone leave room for dessert," he asked cordially, as their plates were swept away. Diggle and Felicity remained silent.

"Well then, may I offer this instead." Kuttler's hands re-emerged from his lap with a smartphone, which he laid on the table in front of his daughter. He tapped the screen once and John suddenly heard a sound, like muffled sobbing. He watched Felicity's eyes bulge in horror.

"It was a long process, but I finally hit upon the ideal motivation. She's still beautiful, after all these years."

Felicity's eyes raised ever so slowly from the cell phone screen, and she half rose from her seat toward Kuttler, murder on her face.  
Dig leaned forward as well, ready for anything.

"Where. Is. My. Mother," she spat, hands fisted on the table. Diggle's stomach dropped. Noah Kuttler ignored her question, his face splitting into a slow, lazy smile.

"By the time you've left the restaurant you will have a file in your inbox. You have 24 hours to fix my little Bratva problem, and if you do I will let Donna return to the glamorous life of a cocktail waitress. Good luck. I'll be in touch."

He collected the phone, rose from the table and, as if on cue, two suits materialized on either side of him as he strode from the room, looking completely happy and at ease. Diggle had a moment of grim satisfaction when he noticed that one of the goons had a slight limp, courtesy of his Ms Smoak.

He counted to 30 in his head before rising from his seat; he did NOT want to meet up with them again in the elevator or on the street. Felicity was staring at the tabletop where the phone had been just moments before, as if she could still see her mother on its screen. She probably could, Dig thought wretchedly, coming around to her side and laying a hand on her shoulder.

"Felicity, we need to go," he said softly, eyes scanning the restaurant as he waited for her to rise. He slipped a hand under her elbow as they began to walk to keep her steady and moving forward. She gulped once, on the edge of a sob, and his grip tightened. 

As they came out of the restaurant John spotted Frank, still wearing his trademark black trench coat, perusing a newspaper near the bank of elevators. Dig caught his eye and Frank immediately folded up the paper, then turned and vanished into the crowd.

The elevator ride down was packed; Felicity stood pressed against his side, trembling. He got her to the street and their valet appeared instantly at his side, keys in hand and a hopeful look on his face. Dig ignored him, helping Felicity into the passenger side before crossing behind the car to get in himself.

They'd driven a few blocks before Felicity suddenly gasped, "Your car...", but John shook his head.

"Later. You have no business driving at the moment."

She nodded once in agreement, then her fingers suddenly came to life on her phone, looking for the promised file from her father. Safety protocols be damned, Diggle thought tensely, as she opened the file right there in the car. The rest of the drive was silent.

\----------------------------------------  
"Thea is here to see you."

Oliver groaned in exasperation; not that he didn't love having his baby sister drop in to visit, but he'd just gotten back to work after extracting himself from a rather pushy reporter--Stephanie? Sally? "Something With An S" Williams, who made it pretty clear with her body language that she wasn't just after an exclusive interview.

Thea breezed in and perched on the corner of his desk, crossing her legs pertly and bracing herself with a hand directly on top of the document he was trying to sign. Oliver growled.

"I don't have time for lunch today," he began, shooing her hand away without looking up.

"Well, lucky for you I just HAD lunch at Table Salt," she countered. Oliver finally looked up at her. She was wearing a green cropped cashmere sweater and white skin-tight capri pants with flats. She looked adorable.

"You went to Table Salt wearing THAT," he teased, and she punched him in the arm. Hard. He grimaced. "Ow. Go away, I'm busy."

"How long does food poisoning last," she plowed on, completely ignoring his rude dismissal.

"I don't know. How could you have food poisoning already? You just ate."

"Not me..." she paused dramatically, brandishing her phone in front of his face. On it was a photo of the interior of Table Salt, focused on one table in particular. Thea scissored her fingers on the screen to enlarge the image. Oliver recognized Noah Kuttler first, then his eyes shifted to the left and he made a noise under his breath.

"John Diggle," Thea confirmed with a nod. “He almost lost his shit when he saw me."

Oliver's heart rate picked up as he tried to make sense of his Head of Security calling in sick and then lunching in a very fancy restaurant with the executive of another company.

Before he could voice his concerns he noticed the third person at the table: It was a view of her left profile only, but he could clearly see a blonde ponytail, glasses, and bright pink lips. Features he hadn't been able to get out of his head for two solid days. Oliver's face suddenly went hot with anger.

"Who..." he started to say, before his sister cut him off.

"That is Felicity Smoak. She works in IT at--wait for it--Queen Consolidated."

Oliver shot her a "How Do You Always Know All The Things" look and she countered with her standard "Because You're A Mouth Breather, Duh" eye roll.

"Remember last summer when I interned in Human Resources? I was in the room the day she was hired. She's a certified genius. She made this year's Top Thirty Under Thirty. I hear they can't get along without her in IT, and Applied Sciences has even taken notice."

Oliver sat stunned over this piece of news. Her name was Felicity Smoak, and she'd been working for his family's company, practically under his nose, the whole time. 

His eyes narrowed. It then begged the question, what were two of his employees doing out in public with the Senior VP of Research & Development for Queen Consolidated's biggest competitor?


	11. Chapter 11

As soon as they hit the apartment Diggle changed clothes and retrieved his gun from the bedroom safe. Whenever Felicity caught sight of it sticking out of the waistband at the back of his jeans she would gasp, although around the 50th time he shot her a look and she at least made an effort to hide her reaction after that.

She had also changed, into yoga pants and a tee shirt, hair down, and was sitting cross legged on the couch, balancing her computer in her lap. But her fingers weren't moving. She just sat there, staring at the log-in screen, as if she was waiting for someone to set off a starter pistol. Although, John thought wryly, based on her reaction to his real live gun, a starter pistol was probably a really bad idea.

Her inactivity was making him extremely nervous: If she couldn't handle this computer problem her father had dumped on her, it wouldn't only be her mother's life on the line, because Diggle was sure that Noah Kuttler would have no problem throwing them both under the Bratva bus if Felicity didn't deliver.

"Do you have the fire power to tackle that computer problem here," he asked, hoping to prompt her into motion.

She sucked in a huge breath and held it, and then the dam just broke. She let out a small keening sound that broke his heart into a million pieces, and suddenly she was a mess of tears. John was in front of her in two strides, whipping the laptop out of the way before it drowned and pulling her onto his lap to let her cry it out. 

When she could finally take a full breath without breaking into fresh sobs he pushed her hair off of her face and planted a kiss on her forehead.

"We are going to save her, Felicity. You and me. But we have to work together, and I need you to focus. We have 22 hours for you to do your computer thing. What do you need?"

Felicity hiccuped once and swallowed, swiping under her lashes fiercely, then met his eyes.

"I don't have enough processing power with just my laptop, but I could do it from QC." She shifted off his lap to grab her computer, then pulled her legs up under her and snuggled into his side while she logged in, finally back on track.

"Although," she continued, her voice raw from crying, "I doubt my co-workers would appreciate it if I took up all the company's processing capacity for the rest of the afternoon. And evening."

"How long do you need," he asked her.

There was a minute of silence while she flashed past lines of code, biting her bottom lip as she calculated.

"Six or seven hours," she decided. "But if I fix it so that they never know it was me," her eyes flashed up to his, "make it look like Noah did it, then I'll need about twice as long."

Diggle nodded, mulling it over. 

"So we'll go in after hours and you can have all the computers for the whole night." Felicity's eyes got very big and it startled a grin out of him.

"Security, remember? I can get us in."

She visibly relaxed, and he wished he didn't even have to bring up the next thing.

"In the meantime, we need to try to find your mom." 

Felicity gasped and pressed a hand to her heart, as if for just a minute she'd been able to forget about that video.

"I need all the info you have or can dig up on her. It would be great if we could figure out her last known location."

She swallowed hard, then nodded and focused down, fingers dancing over the keys. John took advantage of the minute of downtime to prop his feet up on the coffee table and sling an arm around her shoulders, dropping his head onto the back of the couch and closing his eyes. Felicity smiled softly, not looking away from her work, and they shared a comfortable silence while she searched for her mother. 

\------------------------------------------  
John fell asleep and dreamed that he was guarding Oliver, but he turned and disappeared into a crowd, and when John pushed through to follow he encountered nothing but trench coats and ball caps, as far as the eye could see. 

He started awake, just as Felicity stretched and pushed the laptop onto the coffee table.

"I got it," she said softly, standing and shaking out legs that had been bent beneath her for too long. 

Diggle ran a hand over his eyes and checked his watch: It was 3:30p. 

"Email me the file, and then go grab a nap in my room. You're gonna be up all night."

Felicity nodded, firing off the email and then padding into the kitchen for a glass of water before slipping into the bedroom and closing the door.

John reached for his phone and searched through his contacts, then chose one, heart slightly racing. Dammit, you're not a teenager, he scolded himself, but felt his palms get sweaty all the same. 

"Hello Johnny," she answered, calm, cool, and collected. He tried not to drop the phone.

"Hello Lyla. I need a serious favor."

\-----------------------------------------  
Their conversation was short, but she agreed to help without hesitation and he emailed her the file while they were still on the phone. 

"I'll let you know as soon as I have something," she assured him, then hesitated. "It's good to hear from you, Johnny."

"Likewise," he replied, hoping one word would be able to convey just how good--and freaking terrifying--it actually was. 

When she had signed off he booked an Uber to pick him up at the building across the street, grabbed his jacket and that stupid baseball hat, and scribbled a note for Felicity that he'd headed out to retrieve Frank's car. 

\-------------------------------------------  
She was still asleep when he got back, and it was pushing dinnertime, so he called in an order with his favorite local pizza place and switched on the tv for a little distraction. 

Thirty minutes later his pies were at the door, a loaded meat with black olive and a cheese. Based on her love of hamburgers he was pretty sure she'd go for the meat, but better safe than sorry. 

Twenty minutes after that the doorbell rang again, and since he wasn't expecting anyone he approached the door with one hand on the gun behind his back. He slid up to the peephole and took a look: Jeff the bodyguard's face filled the space.

He unlocked and opened the door without hesitation, but by the time he had swung it open it was Oliver Queen who faced him in the doorway. 

"Oliver," he breathed, shock erasing the formality he would normally use with his boss. Oliver's face was stony; his eyes, which always seemed to change their hue depending on his mood, were a cold, steely blue. Diggle froze.

"Nothing to say, Dig," he asked, voice quiet but not soft in any way. No answer would come to John's head; his brain buzzed with white noise and static. 

"Do I smell pizza?"

He felt her more than heard her, and imagined what she must look like shuffling into the room and coming to a stop off his left shoulder, sleep-rumpled and adorable, tiny and vulnerable in comparison to him.

He watched, heart sinking, as Oliver's eyes slid to her, taking her in and drawing his own conclusions with a tic of his jaw. 

Felicity seemed to finally realize that it was the Mayor in the doorway and not the pizza guy, because she let out a little "eep!" of surprise. 

"Mr Queen," he tried again, but was stopped by his boss's raised hand. Diggle's eyes flicked to Jeff, standing behind Oliver's shoulder, who was giving him a look of equal parts pity and disgust. Diggle swallowed hard.

"I never thought it would be you," Oliver said softly, oh so softly, and for the life of him John couldn't tell which betrayal he meant. 

Then he huffed the smallest laugh and looked away, eyes focused on something Diggle would never be able to see, and gave a rueful shake of his head. "Kord Industries." 

He looked up to focus on Felicity once more, and then he turned those cold blue eyes back on John.

"You're both suspended until further notice."


	12. Chapter 12

John closed the door as the two men walked away, then stood with his forehead leaning against it while Felicity moaned softly, mouth muffled with her hands, behind him. As much as she valued her job, he knew in that moment her worry was probably 20% about being unemployed and 80% about getting access to the computers inside QC. 

"Dig..." she said, barely a sound, and he could almost hear her falling over the edge into hysteria. 

John Diggle had the capacity to do great harm, to be a weapon, but the ability came from training, not instinct. In his soul he was a man meant to protect and heal, with hands that wanted to hold babies, not end lives. 

But listening to Felicity behind him losing hope of being able to save her mother made him want to rage, and scream, and tear something--something living and breathing--into a million tiny pieces. He clenched his hands into fists and took deep breaths until he could turn and face Felicity without giving away his secret: That he was willing and able to kill to keep her safe. 

\--------------------------------------------  
"We can still do this, Felicity. Just not the easy way."

Diggle was on his hands and knees at the side of the bed, fishing underneath for a small metal lock box while Felicity hovered in the bedroom doorway, arms wrapped around her middle as if to hold herself together. 

"Go eat," he said softly, and she drifted away toward the kitchen.

He collected what he needed from the box, then changed into black jeans and a black Henley. He fished around in his closet for an old black sweatshirt that had gone through the washer and dryer so many times it no longer fit right; he'd been meaning to donate it. 

As he came out into the living room he met Felicity coming toward him from the kitchen, the last of a piece of pizza in her hands. It was cheese.

"Didn't like the meat," he asked, in mild surprise.

"It has pepperoni on it," she replied. "I'm Jewish."

"Huh." 

"What's that," she asked, around her last bite of crust. The presence of food had improved her emotional outlook dramatically, he was happy to see. 

Diggle glanced down at the sweatshirt in his hands and then held it out to her.

"I don't remember seeing any black in your closet," he teased as she brushed her hands together before taking hold of the shirt. She held it up against her body and kicked out one leg and then the other to check the length; it was going to look like a giant--yet super comfy--dress.

"There was one black dress in there," she replied absently. "But there isn't much to it. My friend Iris calls it my Sex on a Stick dress." Her eyes flew up to his when she realized what she was saying.

"Which is totally not the point. My point is it would not be an appropriate outfit to wear while breaking into one's hopefully-not-former office building for non-nefarious reasons." 

Felicity's babble tumbled to a halt and she watched John try--and fail-- to keep a smile from forming. She practically dived into the sweatshirt, fishing for the arm holes before popping her head through and pulling it down over her yoga pants. 

"I assume we ARE breaking in," she continued, rolling up the cuffs while following him around the apartment as he collected various supplies and stuffed them in a backpack.

"More or less," he answered. "One of my jobs as Head of Security was to plan for every eventuality, so I've spent a lot of time imagining all kinds of worst-case scenarios and how to handle them." He stuffed what looked like a police-issue heavy black flashlight into the bag and zipped it up. "That includes being locked out of my own building and finding a way to get back in."

"Have you ever actually done it, though?"

"I have," John replied, pausing to watch her pull on her sneakers without untying them. "But it will be much easier this time."

Felicity gave him a quizzical look and he winked. 

"I have you."

\------------------------------------------  
"Tell me again why this is the easier way," Felicity whispered from her spot wedged in a crouch between Diggle and a dumpster opposite Queen Consolidated's service entrance.

"I will spare you the details, but the other way involved the sewer system."

"Oh. Well, we'll make that Plan B, I guess."

John spared her a glance; she had been vehemently opposed to wearing a ski mask because she couldn't get the eye holes to line up properly, but he had at least been able to talk her into wearing a black knit hat to cover the blonde. She looked more like a skater girl than a criminal. 

Diggle was waiting for third shift Security to arrive. He knew from experience that the shift changeover would be the time when both the second and third shift guards would be busy signing in and out, passing on information, and shooting the shit. Last night's Rockets game had been a nail biter, so there was sure to be some discussion. 

They weren't going to sneak in, exactly; after his adventure infiltrating the building through the sewer, Diggle had vowed to devise a better way. His brother Andy had still been alive then, and the two of them, plus Lyla, had brainstormed ways to fool the security system into thinking that the infiltrator was SUPPOSED to be there.

Hence the creation of "Chuck Anderson". Chuck had a badge, an ID number, and contributed yearly during the employee charity drive. He never seemed to miss a day of work, signing in and out like clockwork. He had a common enough name to be forgettable, and when it occasionally came up on a report anyone who read it assumed that he must work for another department. 

Although Lyla had been the one to come up with a way to clock Chuck in and out of the system every day automatically, his actual badge lived in the lock box under John's bed, and Diggle had secretly been hoping to someday try out the still-hypothetical entry. 

When he and Lyla split he thought this day would never come, because John needed someone to confound the security cameras when Chuck was on the move. Andy's death pushed the idea further away still, but now that he had Felicity--and an opportunity, as unfortunate as it was--the time had come, and he couldn't quell a small thrill at the idea of executing the plan his late brother helped create.

When Diggle saw the last of the oncoming shift guards go through the door he whispered "go" to Felicity, then counted to 50 in his head. She woke up her tablet and hacked into QC's security cameras, pinpointing the one outside the service entrance and shutting it down just as John hooked a hand under her armpit and hauled her to her feet.

"You counted fast," she murmured, coming with him as quickly as she could. He scanned Chuck's badge at the door and they slipped inside.

Up in security, a second shift guard's recount to the oncoming shift about John Diggle being suspended earlier in the day was interrupted by the alert that Chuck Anderson--wasn't he in Accounting?--had just come in the service entrance. He skipped checking the cameras to finish his story so that he could get home. 

The rest of their journey to the 14th floor was a dance they had choreographed after Diggle showed her the fake badge and explained the concept. 

They'd spent hours practicing their timing as Diggle imagined navigating the halls and elevators of QC and Felicity pretended to turn off the cameras. It took a lot of counting and synchronicity--Felicity's suggestion that her timing might improve with a glass of wine in her was shot down on multiple occasions--but they'd finally begun to feel confident around the time they had to head into position in the alley.

They reached the server room without incident, and Felicity went straight to the far corner of the room. She hunkered down behind the last row of units and unpacked her gear, opening up her laptop and connecting it to the bank of servers. 

John hovered close by, planning to keep watch all night while she did her work. 

"I'm sorry I can't get you more time," he murmured, "but we'll have to get out during the next shift change. You're sure eight hours will be enough?"

Felicity peered up at him from her cross-legged spot on the floor and shrugged.

"It'll have to be."


	13. Chapter 13

A night security guard inside QC Tower could complete the rounds on a single floor in 23 minutes, if they swept every room like they were trained. Each guard was assigned five floors, which meant, counting travel time, John and Felicity could expect a potential visitor roughly once every two hours. Assuming they didn't do anything to draw attention to themselves in the meantime. 

John unfolded his arms to run a hand over his face while he watched the door. Felicity was still at the far end of the room, hidden behind the servers, so even if a guard stepped to the middle of the room and did a sweep she would still go unnoticed. Server rooms were not quiet places, so he had no worries that anyone would hear her typing either.

For himself, Diggle had studied the room pretty thoroughly and found that the only desk in the room, which sat near the entrance, was partially hidden by the door when it was open. He could use the desk for cover, but still get out in the open quick if he needed to defend Felicity or shut somebody up.

His calculations had held true, and they had gone unnoticed during both the midnight and 2am checks. 

But God, he could use a cup of coffee.

He slipped across the room to check on Felicity's progress; he'd tried to keep his distance as much as possible, to avoid distracting her, but he suspected that if he was feeling fatigued she would be too.

John crouched down beside her while her fingers continued to fly. He wondered if they ever got tired; she was a marvel.

"How's it going," he asked softly, watching the lines of code being formed and shifted and erased at a remarkable speed. He saw her frown in thought, her face lit up by the screen.

"Pretty good," she admitted. "Almost finished with the Bratva problem."

Curiosity got the better of him: "Any idea what they wanted Kuttler to do for them?"

"I've tried not to look too close--" her eyes darted to his momentarily--"you know, in case there's a Grand Jury investigation, but it looks like the Russians are trying to rig an election."

John rubbed a hand over his face again and considered. This sounded like a national security problem. He hadn't heard from Lyla, which meant she was still looking for Felicity's mother; he knew she would call day or night if she had information. He suspected she would be VERY interested in this new Bratva angle as well, but until he knew more there was no point in contacting her in the middle of the night. 

He placed a hand on Felicity's shoulder gently and squeezed. "I trust you're making a copy of all of your work, for...later."

She smiled grimly, sparing a hand to reach into her bag for another red vine and sticking the end in her mouth with a determined smile.

"Definitely."

\------------------------------------------  
At 6:37am Felicity poked her head around the end of the bank of servers and caught John's attention. He surged to his feet and crossed the room to her hiding spot.

"It's done," she sighed, reaching a hand up to him so he could help her stand. She wobbled and he pulled her into him, kissing the top of her head with pride.

"You did it, baby girl," he murmured, letting her lean on him for a minute. He planned to get out the way they'd come in, using Chuck's badge, although admittedly there would be more people to avoid at seven in the morning. Still, they could possibly risk being seen as long as they got away. 

His apartment was off limits from this point, at least until he heard from Lyla and they could figure out their next move on Kuttler. Diggle planned to get a hotel room somewhere outside the city to rest and regroup.

Felicity had pulled away from him to bend down and retrieve her laptop when he heard the door open.

The lights came on.

Felicity made a little distressed noise and John pushed her away from him with one hand as the other went behind him for his gun.

"Don't move, John."

Diggle froze, because he knew that voice. He slowly raised both hands as he pivoted away from the look of horror on Felicity's face, trying to tell her with his eyes to stay still.

Frank and a phalanx of QC security were waiting for him.

"Frank--"

"Mr Queen asked me to check on you, but you weren't at your apartment, so I tracked your phone." Franks's expression didn't change; he might as well have been standing in the check out line at the grocery store for all the emotion he showed about the whole thing.

"Frank, I need you to call Mr Queen." He gauged his friend's loyalty and decided to go for broke. "I need to speak to Oliver."

Frank considered him in silence for a long moment, and then reached into his coat and pulled out his phone. He looked away long enough to find the number and then put it to his ear. 

"Mr Queen, it's Frank. I've found him. In the server room at QC." There was silence as Frank listened. Diggle lost his cool.

"Dammit Frank, put him on speaker! Please!"

The other bodyguard looked him in the eye for several heartbeats, then pulled the phone away from his ear and pressed a button. John wasted no time.

"Oliver, it's Dig," he called out. "Felicity Smoak is Noah Kuttler's daughter, and he's blackmailing her into helping him with a job for the Bratva. He's using her mother for leverage and we don't know where she is. Lyla's working on finding her." 

Diggle took a breath; it sounded so crazy when he said it out loud. He thought he heard Felicity groan from her hiding spot and figured she must be thinking the same thing.

There was silence from the phone.

"C'mon man, you know me," Diggle continued, then sighed. "You know me."

Time seemed to stand still as everyone in the room waited for a response.

"Bring her to the mansion," Oliver ordered.


	14. Chapter 14

Felicity fell asleep on his shoulder during the ride out of the city. It was a gloomy morning with a steady light rain; John watched the rivulets on the car window and felt oddly at peace.

If Oliver was pulling them close instead of pushing them away, then all was not lost. There had been a reluctance on John's part to bring his boss into this mess, partly because a billionaire has a lot to lose; a billionaire who is also a politician, even more.

But beyond that, he knew Oliver's nature. Despite his sometimes reckless playboy ways, he was a man with a great need to make a difference, to make things better. As much as they loved him, his parents had never made it easy for him, because they never understood that Oliver needed to prove his worth through deeds, not money. 

Diggle had spent the last couple of years training with him; Oliver had always been in great shape, mostly out of vanity, but one day he had approached his bodyguard with a request to learn, and it was a challenge Dig couldn't turn down.

Now, though, when there was the potential for real trouble, he was worried. Oliver had a hard head and a freakishly high pain tolerance, but no practical experience. There was no way to explain to him in a way he would accept that the bad guys didn't fight in a rational sequence or wait for you to reset when you messed up.

John ran his free hand--the one that hadn't gone numb from Felicity's body weight--over his head and sighed as their car pulled into the estate. Frank was driving, and Diggle was relieved to see that he was bypassing the lane that led to the cottages and taking them both up to the mansion.

He shook Felicity gently and whispered "We're here," when she sat up and yawned.  
Her eyes went big as the house loomed up before them, but she remained silent.

Frank led them up the front steps and into the foyer just as Oliver descended the wide staircase, dressed for work. Out of the corner of his eye John saw Felicity freeze like a baby bunny, but he knew better than to reach out to her and make an already-misinterpreted situation worse.

Oliver stopped in front of them, eyes taking both of them in at once.

"Welcome, Ms Smoak. Frank will see about getting you a room, and then he'll take Mr Diggle home." Felicity's eyes flicked to John; he'd never told her about his residence on the property and she thought he meant the apartment.

If Oliver saw her confusion (he probably did), he didn't react to it, only turned his attention fully on John.

"I have a meeting this morning I can't get out of, but I've freed up my afternoon. Get some rest; we'll talk when I get back." The two locked gazes, and John felt infinitely better in that moment; Oliver believed him, and he was going to help.

John nodded and Oliver turned away to head out the front door, Jeff in tow, but turned back long enough to add, "Let me know if Lyla calls."

\-----------------------------------------  
Diggle fell into bed at 8am. At 10am Lyla called.

"We have eyes on her, Johnny," she began without preamble. "She's being treated well for now. Still in Vegas."

John rubbed his face hard, trying to wake up his brain. Had Felicity ever mentioned Vegas? He realized he'd never actually read the file she had put together on her mother. Huh. He usually didn't allow himself to rely so much on a partner. Not since Lyla.

"We can extract her right now, but it's going to be messy," she continued. "What's your plan?"

Good question, he thought. He suddenly remembered the election rigging Felicity had discovered overnight and told her as much as he knew. As he suspected, Lyla was more than a little intrigued, requesting a copy of Felicity's work at their earliest convenience.

"Keep eyes on her for now," Diggle decided. "I want to hear from Kuttler first; he might just keep his word and let her go."

"Copy that," she replied, and he could tell she was about to hang up.

"Lyla," he said quickly, as his brain tried to figure out what his mouth was about to say. "When this is over I'd like the opportunity to thank you in person."

There was a pause on the other end long enough to make him regret opening his mouth, like, EVER, but then she sighed.

"I'd like that too." He could hear her smiling, and he felt a glow start from the inside. It was the best he'd felt in a long, long time.

He decided not to wake Felicity up at the mansion yet, but texted Oliver as requested and then crawled back under the covers.

\-----------------------------------------  
Oliver's text woke him at noon.

MEET ME IN THE GYM.

John groaned as he rolled out of bed and hit the shower; he was long overdue for a vacation. Or just a damn day off.

As one might expect, the Queen family had a state-of-the-art gym that took up the entire second floor of the garage wing of the mansion. It included every piece of fitness equipment known to man, a dance studio, sauna, showers, and an elevator that went down to the indoor/outdoor pool and hot tub, with views over the manicured grounds. 

After Oliver began training with Diggle he outfitted one end of the gym with training mats and racks upon racks of storage for hand-to-hand weapons. 

Oliver was waiting, shirt off, when he arrived. John knew this was about getting his comeuppance, and even with a lack of sleep that bordered on criminal he was determined to avoid it at all costs.

They warmed up with a series of moves that was so well choreographed it was really more of a dance; it was an unspoken rule that they stick to the set moves until muscles were stretched and warm, and the tensions of the day had begun to drain away.

As they moved out of the last set Oliver struck first, swiping air as Diggle managed to skip back out of harm's way. But the next swing took him by surprise, and he paid for it with a smack to the ribs. He winced but carried on, intent on getting in a jab or two before this was all over. 

They continued to spar, neither one willing to give ground, and Diggle got in a few good looks that led to more than one close call for his boss. 

But Oliver was wearing him down--he probably got a full night's sleep, Diggle thought with a grunt when the staff snaked out of nowhere and caught him behind the thighs. Sweat rolled off both of them, and it was getting hard to see, which is probably why he missed Oliver's last move that swept his legs out from under him and knocked him flat on his back.

"DIG!!" Felicity's shriek echoed through the room and Oliver spun in surprise at the sound, crouching into a defensive stance, staff inches from the blonde's neck before John could blink. 

"HOLD," he barked from the floor, and Oliver froze, blinking rapidly as he realized what he had almost done. 

Felicity, for her part, either didn't notice or didn't care about the close call, because she ducked under the staff and rushed forward just as John was levering himself up onto an elbow.

"M'alright," he grunted, waving her off as he sat up. Felicity stopped dead and looked between the two men, maybe just now conscious of what she'd interrupted. Her eyes caught on Oliver's bare torso and traveled over it so blatantly that the Mayor tilted his head to the side with a candid look. 

"God, you're really sweaty," she said under her breath, and John huffed a laugh that he felt in his ribs and immediately regretted. 

Oliver flipped his bo staff into his left hand and closed the distance between them, holding out a hand to haul John to his feet.   
With Felicity standing between them there was little chance of the two men having a conversation about the last 48 hours, but the look Oliver gave him spoke volumes on its own. There would be time for talking, and their friendship would heal.

Felicity suddenly shook her head as if she'd just remembered why she was there.

"My father sent me another attachment," she said to John, almost reaching for him but evidently deciding there was too much sweat.

"Did you open it," he asked, catching Oliver's eye and tossing his staff to him as Felicity shook her head "no" and darted ahead of him to the stairs.

He heard Oliver catch up to them halfway down, and watched him take over the lead when Felicity started to make a wrong turn near the kitchen.

"I made that mistake on the way to the gym, too," she commented offhandedly. "Your housekeeper--Raisa?--is really nice." Oliver's mouth twitched up.

"How did you know where to look for us," Diggle asked, trying not to sound out of breath, although he was. The Queen mansion was cavernous, and not user-friendly to the casual visitor. Felicity shrugged.

"I pinged your phone."

This earned another mouth twitch from Oliver, and John raised an eyebrow that his boss didn't see.

As a unit they took the stairs to the bedrooms two at a time, Oliver's strides strong and determined, Felicity's more like leaps in her effort to keep up.

"Oh wow," she murmured, breathing a little hard as they entered her borrowed room. In the few minutes since she'd been gone the bed had been made and the curtains opened onto an afternoon that was still gloomy, but improving. Fresh flowers were on the nightstand.

John nodded toward her laptop to keep her on task while fishing his phone out of his cargo pants and then calling up Lyla. She answered soon after Felicity finished carrying the device to the writing desk across the room and preparing to open the attachment, so he quickly told her that Kuttler had contacted them, and then put her on speaker.

Felicity, sitting at the desk with both men standing behind her, took a deep breath and glanced back, ready to click on the icon, but it was Oliver's eyes, not John's, she happened to meet. He nodded to her solemnly and she clicked.

This time it was a video of Kuttler behind a desk, smiling.

"Good afternoon, Felicity. John. I received your finished assignment this morning and I have to say, it was a work of art. That final fix was so..." he paused and John saw Felicity suck in a breath--"elegant. It's obvious you and I are related."

"You son of a bitch," she breathed murderously. Oliver's head tilted slightly and over the phone Lyla made a noise of derision.

"In fact," Noah continued, "I'm so happy with your work that I'm going to insist that we keep working together. I think between us we can accomplish some amazing things."

Felicity gasped, pushing back from the desk and rising as if to flee, but Oliver's hand caught her shoulder just as Diggle barked into the phone:

"Lyla, proceed with extraction. Now!"

"Copy that." 

Felicity's eyes shot to him in confusion and John realized he'd forgotten to tell her that Lyla's team had eyes on her mother. She dropped her gaze to the phone and stared at it, frozen in place. A few moments of tension passed in mutual silence; Oliver's hand was still on her shoulder, as if he'd forgotten that they barely knew each other. 

Just as John was beginning to notice the discomfort of sweat drying in air conditioning, Lyla's voice came back.

"We have her."

There was a collective sigh in the room, and John swiped a hand over his face before taking the call off speaker and turning to step away and get details from her. But out of the corner of his eye he saw Felicity suddenly drop back into the desk chair, and paused to watch her fingers move frantically over the laptop keys and then pound the ENTER key like she was punching someone out.

"Take that, you bastard," she muttered triumphantly.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In light of life continually interfering with art (it seems they expect dinner EVERY night. Sheesh.), I will probably only update once a day moving forward. Just FYI.  
> Thanks again for all the comments! :)

"Felicity," John said quietly, "what did you do?"

Felicity twisted around in her chair to face him.

"I executed Plan B," she replied, then paused and shook her head slightly. "Not YOUR Plan B, the one that involved the sewer system, my Plan B."

Oliver cocked his head in John's direction and he shot his boss a "Don't ask" look, while Lyla called out "what's going on?" over the phone repeatedly.

Diggle dropped the phone from his ear and switched Lyla back to speaker and then he and Oliver stared at Felicity until she sighed.

"Look, I don't know who the Russians are hoping to get elected--I didn't look, remember, because I'm trying to remain Switzerlandy--" she paused momentarily to consider that word-- "but chances are it's nobody we'd want, right? And I remembered hearing that in every election cycle Mickey Mouse gets a certain amount of write-in votes, so I tweaked the program to change the name of whoever gets the most votes post-tampering to...somebody else." She stopped, looking at them like she was hoping nobody would make her say it. 

"Felicity..."

She sighed again, and wouldn't meet his eye.

"There's a good chance our next President will be Iron Man."

There was a breath of dead silence, and then everybody exploded at once. Felicity's head sank lower and lower into her lap as she tried to make herself disappear, while Oliver yelled at Diggle and Diggle yelled into the phone and Lyla yelled at everyone in general. 

The cacophony finally subsided, and Felicity dared to peek up from her lap. 

"Um, if it helps," she began in a small voice, "I sent an anonymous alert to the NSA. And the FBI. They may be able to stop it before Election Day anyway. And all the work I did is masked to look like Noah did it. So there's that." The more she talked the more confident she looked. Diggle thought he'd never seen anyone consistently recover their optimism faster than this woman. 

He shifted his gaze to his boss, and decided Oliver had never seen anything like her either, if the look on his face was any indication. 

John cleared his throat and waved the phone at them to let them know he needed to finish his call with Lyla. Oliver mouthed for him to clean up and meet him downstairs in his office when he was through.

At the mention of cleaning up Felicity looked down over herself and sighed. Once again without a change of clothes, Diggle thought sadly. The poor kid.

Oliver picked right up on her look, because he tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention.

"You're about the same size as my sister. I'm sure she'd be happy to lend you something to wear." 

Felicity smiled gratefully as he left the room to find Thea, and John let himself out of her room with a wave, already talking through their next steps with Lyla.

\---------------------------------------  
John was back in the mansion within the hour, and detoured up to Felicity's room to collect her before heading to Oliver's office.

Thea had indeed been willing to help, and had even been able to find her something to wear in a bright color. Felicity walked solemnly beside him down the stairs, but the bright yellow sundress helped make her look refreshed and confident. He held the door open and ushered her inside.

The room had once looked like the typical library of a very rich person: Book-lined walls, leather wingback chairs. Stuffy. But after his father's death Oliver had taken it another direction; Felicity's eyes bugged a little as she took it all in.

The room was dominated by a sectional that probably seated 15 comfortably. It faced a wall of televisions that could play nine different sporting events simultaneously, or one giant one. It had a bar with shelves full of booze on display. A pool table stood at one end. Where books once lived, signed sports memorabilia had taken over, and one corner of the room even held Oliver's High School sports trophies. It was a man cave on steroids.

John watched her gawk a little as she made a circuit around the room. She had yet to notice that Oliver was already there, leaning on the wall near the door in a checked button down shirt and jeans, arms folded.

He'd noticed her, though.

John cleared his throat to get her attention, and to break Oliver out of whatever spell he was under. The man shifted his weight off the wall and unfolded his arms, gesturing to the bar top table in the near corner.

"Sandwiches are on the way," he said pleasantly, pulling out a stool and keeping a hand on it while Felicity hopped up. When all three of them were seated he leaned his forearms on the table top and clasped his hands together.

"So," Oliver began. "We still have a Noah Kuttler problem."

John rubbed a hand over his eyes and sighed. "And once he knows we were behind rescuing Felicity's mother, a Bratva problem too, no doubt." He met Felicity's eyes across the table. "He'll rat us out to them as soon as he finds out we tricked him."

She bit her lip in consternation, but nodded agreement.

Oliver took a breath and focused on his hands before speaking.

"I think I have a way to help with the Bratva."

"Oliver," Diggle warned under his breath, knowing where he was going, and not liking it one bit.

Oliver ignored him, and they all sat in silence for a tense moment. When he lifted his eyes, it was to Felicity.

"My father did great things in his life, but he was not always a great man." He held her with that endless blue gaze as he continued. "Some of his secrets died with him, but others came to light after his death. Came to me, to deal with. I have fixed what I could, stayed as far away as possible from other things, but I have information, Ms Smoak; information that my father left behind for me to use to help me keep this--" he gestured around the room, but obviously meant much more--"together."

"Don't use it for me," she said suddenly, leaning forward for emphasis, but he was already shaking his head with the barest hint of a smile.

"You and Dig are a part of this," his eyes lifted away from her briefly, "too. The Queen family takes care of its own."

"What are you thinking," John asked, resigned in the knowledge that he wouldn't be able to talk him out of it.

Oliver shifted his gaze to his bodyguard.

"I need to make a phone call."

\------------------------------------------  
The promised sandwiches arrived while Oliver was out of the room, so John and Felicity started in without him. 

She was munching away fairly contentedly, when her face suddenly changed, as if it had just hit her again what they were caught up in. 

"Dig," she mumbled, "what are we doing? Where is my mother? Who rescued her? Why is Mr Queen helping us?" I don't--"

"Felicity, you're spiraling. Take a breath."

She dropped her sandwich and heaved in a big breath, flailing for his arm. John reached out for her and gripped her arm firmly, just holding on to her and keeping her grounded. 

They stayed that way for several breaths, until they heard the door open behind them and Diggle slowly released her arm. He pulled his arms into himself, folding them on the table, food forgotten.

As Oliver resumed his seat at the table, John began to talk to her.

"My ex wife Lyla works for an organization called ARGUS." He paused when he saw Felicity's eyes light up with recognition.

"I know ARGUS," she replied solemnly, back in control of herself. "Neat satellites."

John raised an eyebrow at her and waited.

Felicity shrugged one shoulder, eyes now focused on the potato chips she was pushing around her plate. "They're easy to hack. Handy."

He rolled his eyes to heaven, and heard Oliver snort. This girl.

"ANYWAY," he continued, trying to ignore her slow smile into her chips, "ARGUS agents located your mother at my request and extracted her. She's with them now."

As if on cue, his phone rang; it was Lyla, checking in. He talked to her momentarily, then held the phone against his chest and looked at Felicity.

"Lyla wants to know if you'd like to speak to your mom."

Felicity's expression froze into a mix of emotions too complex to decipher, but she nodded. He confirmed with Lyla, then handed Felicity the phone.

Oliver was already moving off his stool to give her privacy, and John started to do likewise, but then Felicity heard her mother's voice and her face crumpled up into tears. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to stifle her sobs, and John's heart broke for her. He stepped to her without thinking, cradling her small head between his hands and kissing her forehead gently.

As he pulled away from her his eye caught Oliver's face; an expression passed over it so fast John could almost convince himself he'd imagined it, but as they let themselves out of the room he couldn't get the words "longing" and "loneliness" and "envy" out of his head.


	16. Chapter 16

The two men stepped out into the hall and waited for Felicity to finish her call. John leaned his back against the wall and scrubbed both hands over his face and up over his head. He was afraid if he stayed awake much longer he'd start hallucinating.

Oliver, arms crossed, looked very concerned. 

"You need rest," he said sternly. 

John grunted his agreement, but didn't move. 

"What was the phone call about," he asked, deflecting. There was a long pause before Oliver answered.

"Anatoly Knyazev is coming to dinner tomorrow night." 

Diggle met Oliver's gaze and the two sized each other up.

"You really want to play it this way," he challenged.

"I really do."

"If this goes wrong, there's no going back, you know."

"Well aware, Dig. Go home, sleep all night, don't come back here until tomorrow morning. You're no good to me as a bodyguard if your reflexes have gone to shit from sleep deprivation."

Diggle finally conceded, checking his watch before turning back to the closed office door.

"She's probably done by now. I'll just retrieve my phone and say goodbye to Felicity."

As he stepped through the door he saw her, curled up in the corner of the couch, shoes kicked off, his phone on the cushion next to her. She was fast asleep. 

"Poor kid," he said under his breath, then glanced over his shoulder at Oliver. "Want me to carry her upstairs?"

"No, just leave her. No one will come in here. I'll keep an eye on her." He produced a green throw from somewhere and handed it to John, who tucked it around her gently. Felicity moaned a little and cuddled into the blanket, but didn't wake.

"Go," Oliver said quietly.

\------------------------------------------  
Oliver stared at the girl on his couch for a long time after Diggle left. Her glasses were a little crooked from the way her head was laying, and he considered trying to take them off, but he was afraid he'd wake her. And then she might leave.

Oh god, Mayor Creepy anyone?, he thought with a cringe. 

Oliver sat gingerly in the middle of the sectional and turned on a couple of the tvs, leaving them muted with the closed captioning on while he watched sports news. 

After an hour or so he slipped out long enough to grab his laptop, then rearranged himself on the couch and got some City Hall work done. Felicity slept on.

When the mostly gloomy day began to fade into evening he closed the curtains and turned on a few lights, then did a bit more work. 

Dinner came, on a tray; two plates under lids. Oliver ate his while watching a silent baseball game, washed down with a craft beer from the bar. 

Finally, around eight o'clock, Felicity stirred. She stretched mightily, legs straightened out along the couch and toes pointed, and Oliver thought it was the cutest thing he'd ever seen.

"Oh," she said softly, when she realized she wasn't alone.

"Good evening," Oliver offered gently, hoping not to scare her; she was waking up in a strange place--without Diggle--after a traumatic day. He didn't want to freak her out. 

Felicity looked slightly mortified as she pulled her legs back under her and sat up, readjusting her glasses.

"Mr Queen, I can't believe I fell asleep on you! I mean, not ON you, obviously, but, you know, on your furniture. That isn't a bed. Because technically I've been on your bed today too..." 

She buried her face in her hands and moaned. He thought he heard a "Please stop me" muffled by her hands, and he couldn't contain his grin.

"It's okay, Felicity, I know what you meant. Are you hungry?"

She dared a peek up from her hands, nodding slightly, and he smiled again, leaning forward to grab her plate off the coffee table before carrying it to the bar to heat it up in the microwave. 

She dug in to her meal and Oliver sat back again, taking the game off mute and leaving a companionable silence between them. 

"I hope I didn't ruin your evening plans, or anything," she finally said, a little sheepishly.

Oliver paused before answering, pondering a checkered past of Friday nights, and decided that this was the nicest one he'd had in a long time. 

"No place I'd rather be," he said with certainty, and if she read between the lines of his comment, she didn't react with more than a smile. 

Felicity polished off her plate of food, then returned it to the tray but didn't sit back down.

"Well, as crazy as it sounds, I think I'm ready for bed. Thank you for dinner, Mr Queen. I'm sorry I wasn't better company."

Oliver stood up in the middle of her sentence, stepping back out of her way and ushering her toward the door. 

"I had a very nice evening," he assured her, and when they reached the door he opened it for her and then followed her through, deciding at the last minute that he wasn't ready to say goodnight just yet.

Felicity looked pleasantly surprised when he accompanied her up the stairs to her room, and thanked him again as he stopped outside the door.

"Call me Oliver," he said then, suddenly earnest. He crossed his arms over his chest when he would've reached out to touch her arm. It was the strangest feeling, to suddenly miss her when she was standing right in front of him.

Felicity didn't seem to notice the affect she had on him--thank god--but she did smile softly and say, "Good night, Oliver," before slipping through the door, and just like the day he first laid eyes on her in rush hour traffic, his troubles seemed to disappear in her wake.


	17. Chapter 17

The next morning Diggle walked into a mansion buzzing with activity. Staff members were setting up the dining room, and the main areas of the house were getting a thorough cleaning. He found Oliver consulting with Raisa on the menu in the kitchen, and bypassed them to get a cup of coffee.

He was leaning against the farmhouse sink with a view of the room when Felicity padded in, rumpled in Thea's borrowed sleepwear and on the hunt for coffee. John saw that, even though his back was to her, Oliver froze momentarily as she appeared, suddenly hyper-aware of her presence.

"Morning," she mumbled, with the signature lack of awareness of non-morning people before they've had coffee. 

"Did you sleep well," John asked, shifting to the side to give her a place next to him to lean while she revived herself.

"Mmm, yes, twice, actually. Once with Oliver--"

Her eyes shot open as fast as Oliver's head snapped up, and Diggle nearly spit out his coffee. 

Before she could voice her mortification in another babble--which would no doubt make it worse--he laid a hand on her arm.

"We get it," he soothed with a chuckle.

Oliver cleared his throat, fighting a smile of his own, to get their attention.

"Dinner is at seven tonight."

John shifted away from the sink, figuring that was his cue to get started on the day. With Bratva coming to dinner there would be some definite security issues to attend to.

"What about Mrs Queen and Thea," he asked quietly as he came to stand near Oliver.

"My mother already had business in New York planned for next week; I convinced her to take Thea and go out early for a Girls' Weekend," Oliver replied. "The Hamilton tickets were very persuasive," he added with a wink.

Diggle made a "rich people" eye roll at him in jest and turned to nod at Felicity before heading out for the day.

"Bye Dig," she called out, both hands folded around her coffee cup and her eyes already much brighter.

"Felicity, Thea asked me to tell you that her closet is yours. Help yourself."

Oliver watched her eyes go wide with excitement and had to look away before his face split wide open with a grin. 

Just then his phone buzzed and he glanced down; something else needed his attention. He sighed, and looked back up at her. 

"I need to go, but please make yourself at home. The Security office is down the hall and--well, you'll ping his phone I'm sure." Felicity laughed a little and nodded, blushing prettily. 

Oliver took a deep breath. 

"See you at lunch?"

"See you," she said. 

\----------------------------------------  
Two hours later Oliver set out looking for Diggle the old fashioned way, on foot, partly because it was good to remember how to find someone without just texting, and partly to burn off nervous energy that he seemed to always have in abundance, but never more than today. 

Today he would meet with a high-ranking member of the Russian mafia in his own home, and the consequences for screwing it up made the Red Headed Twin Debacle look like a day at the mall. 

Add to that the blonde IT genius that had stumbled into his life very recently and turned it upside down. Imagining her standing by while he negotiated her freedom gave him the cold sweats. He needed to consult with Dig immediately, if not sooner.

He found his bodyguard down the half mile-long driveway, in the guard shack near the front gates. 

Oliver waved through the window at him, knowing from experience it was not smart to surprise a man with a gun. Diggle waved him around to the door. 

"Hey, have a minute," Oliver asked, hanging onto the doorknob after he'd opened the door.

John stepped outside and tried not to notice how keyed up his boss looked. 

"Sure. What's up?"

"I don't think Felicity should be at the dinner tonight."

John swiped a hand over his mouth and regarded Oliver silently for a moment.

"Chances are Kuttler went right to the Bratva as soon as he realized we'd done an end run around him. They already know about her, Oliver." 

Oliver paced a small path back and forth in front of him while John watched, calculating.

"Unless it's not her safety you're worried about," he continued, and Oliver's eyes snapping to his was all the confirmation he needed.

Oliver suddenly stopped pacing and faced his friend.

"The first time I saw her she changed my whole day, just by being...her. I've never met anyone like her. I'm worried she'll be a distraction at the wrong moment." He paused, eyes pleading. "Tell me what to do."

John sighed. 

"The first time I laid eyes on Felicity Smoak she was being dragged out of Queen Consolidated by two very large men. Not only did she hold her own, I'm pretty sure at least one of them needed medical attention by the time she was through. She is one of the smartest, most badass women on the planet."

Oliver gave him a long, measuring stare. 

"You're saying she should be there."

John huffed a laugh. "I'm saying if you don't want her there, you can tell her yourself. And I will buy tickets."

Oliver shot him a non-plussed look and Diggle shook his head.

"You are well and truly in trouble, man," he said quietly, only half kidding. 

Oliver chose not to reply, just frowned at his watch and then ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm gonna go for a run before lunch."

\------------------------------------------  
Felicity spent a good part of the morning negotiating the wonderland of Thea Queen's wardrobe. Say what you will about the one percenters, she thought to herself, they know how to design a closet.

She put on a one-woman fashion show in front of the wall of mirrors, trying to choose the right cocktail dress for dinner with Starling City's mayor and a Russian mob boss. She actually laughed out loud at the hilarity of it, until it hit her that it wasn't really funny at all.

She narrowed her choices down to three dresses and decided that she'd ask Raisa to come up with her after lunch and help her decide. In the meantime, it was beautiful out, and she hadn't been outside for any measurable amount of fresh air in days. A walk around the grounds was just the thing. 

The clothes she'd worn to the mansion the day before had already been washed and left folded on her bed, so she changed into them and headed out the front door and down the steps. 

It crossed her mind briefly that it might be smart to tell Dig where she was going, but she really wasn't planning to go far; lunch would be ready soon and she wasn't about to be late for that. Especially considering the way Oliver had looked at her this morning.

Felicity followed the driveway around the house, past the pool--the pool with a glass wall that came down into the water and divided it from the indoor pool on the other side, holy crap!--and out onto the expansive back lawn. It rose and dipped like a golf course, with trees lining the edges. At first she kept to the middle, but a trail into the trees on one side caught her eye, and she suddenly got brave.

Like everything else in the Queen family's world, the path was well-tended, which was good, because Felicity was not a big fan of weeds or bugs or pricker bushes. It was not a hot day, and even cooler in the shade of the trees; she was suddenly glad she'd thrown Diggle's ridiculously large sweatshirt on before she left. 

There seemed to be a bit of a clearing coming up, and maybe a gazebo or something similar in the middle. Felicity slowed a little as she reached the clearing, trying to decide what she was looking at.

And then it hit her.

More precisely, HE hit her, hard, taking her to the ground and rolling back up to his feet with his arms around her. One minute she was alone, and then she was part of a tangle of arms and legs with the trees spinning crazily overhead, and finally right side up again and being squashed inside a giant set of arms. 

She was too surprised to make a sound at first, too busy trying to wrap her head around having the air squeezed out of her and her feet kicking in midair. But as her brain began sending her pain signals and fear signals and fight-or-flight debates (complete with charts), Felicity began to squirm, and scream, and make a general nuisance of herself.

There wasn't much she could do with that grip around her middle, but she did manage to wiggle and kick at his shins enough that he had to set her back on the ground briefly in order to adjust his grip, and as soon as she felt earth beneath her feet she launched herself upward and reared her head back, connecting with a sickening crunch into his face.

He relaxed his grip on her for a second, but he still had his hands bunched in her clothing, so she went boneless to the ground and slipped out of that giant--thank god for John Diggle--sweatshirt. The one part of her brain that wasn't screaming hysterically wished she was wearing heels so that she could do some damage to his feet, but sneakers were better for running anyway, so that's what she did. 

The back of her head was throbbing, and she was still slightly dizzy from the roll, but she shot back down the path and out into the open, making for the house and praying that someone would happen to be looking out one of the windows. 

When he took her to the ground the second time it knocked the wind out of her; screaming wasn't even an option. This time he didn't roll with her, he just landed on top of her, then levered himself up off of her with a knee on her back. She couldn't even grunt in pain with no air in her lungs. 

He had both of her hands caught between his, and once he was standing wasted no time pulling her along the ground back toward the woods; apparently he was also thinking about being seen from the house.

With her hands held above her head she couldn't get her lungs to inflate, and her main concern quickly shifted from getting away to just getting air; she didn't even have the reserves to slow their progress by dragging her feet. Her sight was getting fuzzy and gray around the edges, so Felicity closed her eyes.


	18. Chapter 18

John had sort of expected to see Felicity at some point during the morning, but somehow their paths had never crossed. To be fair, he had been all over the property, and she was probably still trying on clothes in Thea's closet. He checked his watch as he headed back to the security office: He'd look in on things once more before lunch and then go find her.

\------------------------------------------  
Oliver's favorite running route took him down the front drive to the gates and then into the woods along the perimeter of the property, just inside the eight foot high stone wall that surrounded the estate. 

He'd been running since he was a teenager, and over the years had worked with the grounds staff to carve out a pretty decent trail, complete with fallen trees and water hazards. Diggle sometimes ran with him, but today he needed solitude to calm his nerves and focus down on tonight's meeting.

Oliver was three quarters of the way around the perimeter (coming up on the clearing where his mother had once stuck a pagoda as a surprise for a foreign dignitary whom Queen Consolidated was trying to woo), and had just hit the sweet spot of nothingness in his brain when he heard screaming.

\----------------------------------------  
John entered the security office and nodded to Frank, who had stayed behind from the Queen ladies' New York trip at his request. He was sitting at the bank of security monitors, but he had rotated his chair around when he heard the door open. The screens were at his back. 

\-------------------------------------------  
The only thing out of place in the clearing was a dark bundle on the ground near the shortcut trail to the lawn. Oliver swerved over to investigate, and when he saw what it was his heart rate kicked up.

He veered into the shortcut and increased his speed. 

\-------------------------------------------  
Frank was never one for small talk, which suited Diggle just fine on this particular day. He was opening his mouth to tell him he’d be back to cover his lunch when a flash of something caught his eye on monitor #12.

He blinked, and then leaned in for a better look.

"Oh my God."

Frank spun his chair to the monitor, picked up the phone even before his eyes had fully registered what they were seeing, and said, "Go," to Diggle over his shoulder.

Diggle ran.

\--------------------------------------------  
Oliver emerged from the clearing as the man was levering himself up off of her and his heart almost burst out of his chest. 

It was Felicity.

\--------------------------------------------  
By the time Diggle hit the doors to the back patio Jeff was wheeling around the corner of the house in a golf cart. He slowed down enough for John to throw himself in beside him and stomped on the pedal.

\--------------------------------------------  
The man had dragged her around by the arms and was hauling her across the lawn toward the trees. He had his back to Oliver.

Oliver was screaming like William Wallace on the inside, but he made no sound as he changed his angle and moved in.

———————————————————  
As the golf cart came over the final hill, Diggle saw Oliver going for the man and his heart stopped. 

He watched as Oliver lowered his shoulder and plowed into him at waist level, coming up under his arms and forcing him to let go of Felicity. His momentum carried them several feet away from her as he rode the man to the ground.

———————————————————  
Felicity knew that something had just happened above her, because suddenly her hands were free and she was falling back to the ground. She pulled her arms into her chest and rolled onto her stomach, hoping she was rolling AWAY from whatever had just happened above her.

She was finally able to get a breath, and it made her want to sob with relief, but there wasn’t enough oxygen (or time) for that right now, because she needed to MOVE. 

———————————————————-  
Jeff and Diggle were out of the golf cart before it had come to a complete stop. Oliver saw their shapes looming over him, and though his anger was white-hot, he had spent enough hours training with the security team to know when to tap out, so he let go and rolled away. 

Besides, he needed to get to Felicity.

Oliver surged to his feet and closed the distance between them just as Felicity was trying to rise weakly to her feet. He executed a textbook second base slide right under her, catching her around the middle and finishing with her in his lap. 

———————————————————-  
Felicity was caught again; could this day just be over now, she thought, because man oh man had it turned shitty. 

She kicked and flailed as hard as she could, which wasn’t hard at all because she was tired and beaten up and still trying to remember how to breathe, but she was not going to go down without a fight. 

Except this time it was a bit different; the arms were restraining her but not out of cruelty, and there was quite a bit more sweat than before, and a voice kept saying her name over and over, and she really liked the way it sounded. Felicity let the fight drain out of her for a second to assess the situation and found that she could move freely within those arms (which was a new twist on today’s old story), so she turned toward the voice and opened her eyes. 

———————————————————  
At first he didn’t think she could see him, because she was fighting pretty hard and her hair was all over the place. He held her to him, hoping against hope that she would recognize it as security and not restraint. He didn’t even realize at first that he was repeating her name over and over quite softly, as soothing as a lullaby.

She finally stilled and turned slowly in his arms, as if she’d just figured out that this could be a different guy. Her eyes met his and Oliver thought he might burst into tears.

“Hey,” he said softly, instead.


	19. Chapter 19

Within five minutes of Dig’s call to him Frank was pulling up in one of their big black Escalades. He and five other bodyguards emerged, and from her spot in Oliver’s lap the words “Secret Service Clown Car” went through Felicity’s head and she had to clap her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing hysterically.

“Are you alright,” Oliver asked a little anxiously as he smoothed some of her hair back and shifted his arms around her. She clutched onto him, suddenly afraid that he was going to let go, but nodded.

“It’s possible I’m suffering a bit from shock.” She licked her lips. “And maybe a concussion.”

His hand went to the back of her head gingerly and she realized he was inspecting her for injury.

“Diggle,” he called out. “Get the doctor on the phone. I want her checked out.”

John looked at both of them for a moment, as if he’d just noticed how they were sitting together, and then nodded. He made the call, standing off to the side as Frank’s crew consulted in a circle around the man that Jeff still had pinned to the ground. He hadn’t put up a fight since the bodyguards had first appeared. 

Felicity was trying not to look over there.

“Could we go now please?” 

Her voice was barely a whisper and directed to the ground, but Oliver heard her and pulled her into him a bit further.

“Yep, in just a minute.” His hand ghosted over her head again like he wasn’t sure if he should be touching her or not, then it dropped around her arm and stayed there.

Within a couple of minutes John was heading toward them with another member of the team in tow.

“We’ll take you back in the cart while they clean up things here.” Diggle glanced back as he spoke, but didn’t indicate what exactly he meant by “clean up”. And for that, Felicity was extremely grateful.

John bent to help her up, but before she could do anything herself Oliver basically dead lifted her to him from his seated position, and just like that she was on her feet. Oliver took John’s offered hand to rise as well, and then scooped her up off the ground so fast she gasped. 

Oliver carried her swiftly to the golf cart and then deposited her in the back and climbed up beside her, putting an arm around her and pulling her close. She fit under his arm like a missing puzzle piece.

Diggle got in behind the wheel with his partner beside him and they headed back to the mansion. The knot of security and the hulking shape of the Escalade grew smaller in the distance. 

Felicity shivered in the breeze and Oliver hugged her closer; he was murmuring soothing things near her ear that she couldn’t make out but completely understood. She closed her eyes and laid her head against his chest.

Raisa met them at the patio doors, concerned but calm and ready to help. Oliver asked her to bring lunch up to Felicity’s room, and also to send the doctor up as soon as she arrived. 

He carried her up to her room—despite her increasingly embarrassed protests—with John right behind him. He fussed over her so much she finally had to use her loud voice—which only made him jumpier—and gave herself a headache. John looked like he was about through with both of them.

Oliver finally left her alone when Dr Lewis arrived; she was a few years older than his mother and had been the Queen family physician for as long as Oliver could remember. She was candid and charming, and, thanks to watching Oliver Queen grow up, had a well-honed bullshit detector.

Oliver hadn’t even finished with his explanation of events before she’d laid a hand on his arm and told him to take a hike and let her look over the patient. Then she’d given him a little squeeze and promised that she would take good care of her. 

The two men stepped outside Felicity’s room, but neither seemed anxious to move far from the door. Oliver knew he really needed a shower, but he couldn’t make his feet travel down the hall to his room. 

He leaned back against the wall and bent down to touch his toes, stretching muscles that had gone cold from the interrupted run. When he was upright again, raking a hand through his hair, he caught his bodyguard’s eye and froze; John’s expression was furious.

“What,” he said stupidly, and John took a threatening step toward him.

“He could’ve had a gun, Oliver! He could’ve killed you!”

“Dig—“

“You had no business taking that guy on—“

“Well where the hell were you?! What was she doing walking around in the woods by herself anyway?”

They were nose to nose, and not being quiet about it. Oliver barreled on.

“And why have I been training for all these years if it wasn’t to be able to protect her?!” He faltered. “Myself. To protect myself,” he corrected at a more normal volume level. 

Diggle nodded slowly, his eyes still hard, like all his suspicions had just been confirmed.

“What are you doing?” His question was spoken so softly it caught Oliver off guard. He could only stare as John went on, suddenly dreading the direction this was going. 

“She’s not a one night stand type of girl, Oliver. She’s an amazing human being. Do her a favor and walk away before she gets the wrong idea about you and gets hurt.”

It felt like a punch to the gut, and Oliver blinked several times as he tried to recover his equilibrium. His rebuttal that this time it was different died before making it past his lips, and his silence must have read like agreement to Diggle, because he huffed in knowing exasperation and looked away.

“Go get cleaned up. I’ll keep watch and let you know when lunch gets here.”

Oliver stood still for another moment, staring at Diggle and willing him to look back at him, but finally turned and walked away.

———————————————————-  
Lunch arrived just as Dr Lewis was letting herself out of Felicity’s bedroom, and Oliver was already cleaned up and ready for both.  
John was still there too, standing on the other side of the hall; they had yet to speak.

The doctor looked Oliver up and down briefly.

“Do I need to check you over too?”

“No ma’am,” he replied respectfully. “It was a clean hit. I’m fine.”

She rolled her eyes, because she’d been on hand for his rugby years.

“She’s bruised up, bit of a bump on her head, and she’ll be sore later, but she’s going to be just fine. Whatever his intentions, he didn’t get a chance to carry them out, thanks to her fight. And to you.” She patted his shoulder affectionately and smiled. “Where’s your mother?”

“Uh, New York. Thea too.” Her praise had knocked him off balance, especially after the confrontation with Diggle. 

“Both of you need a good meal and a nap.” She winked. “Doctor’s orders.”

He managed a smile as she turned to go, and then he knocked softly on Felicity’s door, both anxious and nervous to see her.

She called for him to come in, but at the last second he gestured for Raisa to go ahead of him with the lunch tray. He didn’t check behind him, but knew Diggle followed him through the door too.

Felicity was sitting on the edge of the bed, combing her fingers through her hair. She was still in the same clothes, probably because she hadn’t had a chance to get anything from Thea’s closet.

“Are you hungry,” Oliver asked by way of breaking the silence. She nodded, and Raisa set the tray down in the window seat. 

“I brought enough for Mr Diggle too,” Raisa said softly, smiling kindly at Felicity as she crossed the room and let herself out.

Oliver tried not to fidget as he waited for Felicity to pass by him. She glanced at him once from under her lashes and his heart beat faster. He was acutely aware of John’s eyes on him, and their earlier conversation was screaming through his brain on repeat. 

She selected a sandwich from the pile on the plate and sat back down on the edge of the bed, nibbling at it without meeting anyone’s eyes.

Oliver had been starving, but now that they were all in the room together his throat had closed up and he was afraid to try swallowing a sandwich, mostly because he wasn’t sure Diggle would do the Heimlich on him if he did choke. He opted for a bottle of water instead. 

John didn’t eat right away either; when he was mad he reverted to his bodyguard act, looking mean and standing at attention in the corner. It usually brought out the playful, sarcastic side of Oliver, but not today. 

The easy rapport they’d all had just the day before had disappeared, and this awkward silence was terrible. Felicity must have thought so too, because halfway through her sandwich she spoke up very softly.

“I’m sorry,” she said, mostly into the sandwich, without looking up.

“Felicity,” Oliver began, at the same time John said, “Are you okay?” She looked up then, eyes darting from one to the other.

“I’m fine. Nothing happened. I mean, obviously something HAPPENED, but not what you think probably happened.” She stopped and shuddered then, and Oliver had to stuff the hand not holding the water bottle into his pocket so that he wouldn’t reach out to her. 

“What did happen,” Diggle asked.

Felicity swallowed and took a moment to collect her thoughts.

“I didn’t mean to go far, just wanted a bit of fresh air. I was out on the lawn when I saw the trail into the woods, so I took it—“

“You didn’t see or hear anything that made you go in there,” John asked. She shook her head no.

“It just looked interesting.” She paused again, eyes focused elsewhere as she remembered. “Just as I got to the clearing he...I don’t know where he came from, exactly. One minute I was standing up and the next we went down and came back up again and I couldn’t get free.”

She stopped suddenly and stood as if she needed to run. Oliver took a step toward her without thinking and she looked like she might come to him on her own, but instead wrapped her arms around her middle.

“I fought, but he was really strong. I finally head butted him—that REALLY hurts, by the way. He let go enough for me to slip out of the sweatshirt and then I ran for the house.” 

She paused again and met Oliver’s eyes. “The rest you know, I guess.”

“Did he say anything to you, threaten you at all?”

Felicity’s eyes shifted to Diggle and she shook her head no again.

“Not a word.”

John and Oliver’s eyes finally met and they shared a moment of mutual concern. This didn’t exactly sound random.

“Call the Merlyn’s and ask to borrow their dogs for the next 24 hours,” Oliver said, and John nodded. Moira would never allow guard dogs at the Queen estate because she didn’t like animals, but nothing beat a good guard dog when you had people skulking in the woods. 

John looked torn between getting back to work and staying in the room with whatever had happened immediately following Felicity’s rescue, but Oliver met his eyes again and nodded once, a promise to behave himself. 

John still stopped to wrap her up in a hug before he left, and Felicity grabbed on to him tight.

“There will be a man on your door 24/7. And if you need to go ANYWHERE, you call me first. Yes?”

“Yes, sir,” she said faintly, muffled against his chest. There was a smile in her voice, though. He kissed the top of her head and let go to walk away. 

Oliver watched until he’d closed the door, then looked down at her.

“Do you want to take a shower?”

Felicity blinked at him, shell shocked, until she realized he didn’t mean WITH HIM. Oliver tried not to blush. 

“Um, yes please, except, you know, clothes.” She waved a hand around herself vaguely. “Same old story.”

“Let’s go see what we can find,” he said with a smile, and when she looked uncertain he added, “I don’t think Dig meant Thea’s closet when he said not to go anywhere without him.”

His comment made her smile, and he couldn’t help adding, “Besides, you won’t be alone. You have me.”


	20. Chapter 20

As John stood under the porte cochere at the front entrance of the mansion waiting for Merlyn’s hell hounds to arrive, he took advantage of the few moments of quiet to let his thoughts drift.

This was beginning to feel like those dark days right after Robert Queen died, when the family still feared foul play with the yacht; before the revelation that it was merely a mechanical failure that caused the sinking that took the lives of their patriarch and his mistress. 

Diggle had been hired about six months before that terrible day, not long after Oliver returned home with his fourth and final university expulsion letter and it became obvious to his parents that he had neither the interest nor the capacity to become the next CEO of Queen Consolidated.

John began shadowing what he first thought was an angry, careless, rich kid who medicated and partied his way through life waiting for his trust fund to kick in. But John was standing by the day the autopsy reports came back and named the woman who had been found in Robert Queen’s cabin: Isabel Rochev. 

He’d watched the horror of recognition bloom in Oliver’s eyes and thought back to the company Christmas party, just weeks before the accident, when he reluctantly stood guard in front of the janitor’s closet on the 31st floor while his charge got busy with a pretty young intern. His heart went out to Oliver at that moment, and he never looked at his reckless behavior in quite the same way after that.

When John’s own brother died of PTSD-related drug abuse, Oliver came to the funeral and the family quietly funded a veterans’ mental health clinic in the Glades.

Oliver even tried to be supportive after Lyla left, and if buying out a strip club one evening for their exclusive use wasn’t the most traditional divorce party idea, Diggle could at least appreciate the sentiment.

Becoming mayor had settled him a lot, and it seemed to speak to his skill set of strategizing and trouble shooting; he’d never seen anyone think on his feet faster than Oliver Queen. 

But thinking on your feet did not mean taking down God-knows-who without backup; John still shuddered every time he replayed that scene in his head, not to mention the way his heart had stopped when he saw Felicity burst out of the woods on that monitor. 

The gate radioed that the dogs were coming up the drive and Diggle shook himself out of his reverie. Everyone was safe, he reminded himself. For the time being.

—————————————————————————

Oliver was sitting on a large tufted ottoman in Thea’s closet watching Felicity poke gingerly through one of his sister’s dresser drawers and trying not to get caught staring. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this happy. 

She pushed her hair behind one ear and then brushed her fingers together with a sigh.

“Still finding leaves,” she said with a glance at him from under her lashes. 

He stretched his legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, and leaned back, bracing his hands behind him. She seemed to take this as an invitation to join him, because she walked over and sat down with one leg tucked up under her.

“I’m sorry to be so much trouble,” she said softly, fingers fiddling with the tee shirt she’d chosen in her lap. “Dig sounded pretty mad at you.”

Oliver blushed and grimaced. “You heard that, huh?” She nodded, and he sighed.

“He’s just doing his job, which he is very good at.”

“He’s amazing,” she agreed quietly, and Oliver felt an unreasonable stab of jealousy. 

Felicity looked like she wanted to say something else, but didn’t know where to start. He caught her eye and tilted his head questioningly to prompt her.

“I was sorry to hear about your father’s death. I know it was a few years ago now,” she rushed on, “and I wasn’t living in Starling at the time, but, you know, it was all over the news.” She stopped, as if she was unsure whether or not to go on.

Oliver smiled softly and looked down, pausing a moment before replying.

“You know, becoming Mayor was actually his dream, not mine. But my mother was really the better fit for CEO, so I needed to do something of my own to carry on his legacy.” He blushed for the second time in five minutes. “I probably shouldn’t be confessing that to one of my voters,” he said with a self-deprecating smile.

“Oh, I didn’t vote for you,” she replied, and Oliver looked like he’d just been slapped.

“Oh! No! Not because you’re a bad candidate, because I’m sure you’re fine—you’re most definitely fine—I just, I actually didn’t vote for anyone because I’d just moved to town and hadn’t registered to vote yet. I’m sure in the next election I’ll vote for you, though. For sure.”

She’d placed a hand on his arm to emphasize her regret as she verbally flailed, and was unconsciously rubbing up and down his bicep. Oliver smiled back in understanding and tried not to purr. 

If she kept that up he was going to have a serious problem.

He cleared his throat and leaned forward again in order to break contact with her before he did something stupid and proved Dig right.

————————————————————————

A black panel van full of attack dogs followed by an equally black multi-passenger van full of handlers pulled up under the porch and John suppressed an eye roll; Tommy Merlyn was in the front seat of the first vehicle.

“Thought I’d ride over with the doggos and say hi,” Tommy called brightly as he got out of the van. “What’s up, my man?”

“We had an intruder on the grounds this morning, and Mr Queen suggested we take some extra precautions.”

“Great! Good. Wonderful. Is he home?” 

“He was upstairs last time I saw him, sir,” John replied, hoping Tommy would just go so he could concentrate on not being eaten by the huge Malinois that had just emerged from the back of the van. 

Tommy slapped him on the shoulder as he passed, jogging up the steps and calling over his shoulder, “Keep up the good work, Diggle.”

—————————————————————————

Felicity didn’t seem to be ready to go just yet. She had dropped her hand from his arm and was back to messing with the shirt in her lap, her eyes lowered.

“Dig said, well, he said that you’d noticed me and my...skills, and you sent him to find me.” She looked up at him. “When did you see me?”

Oliver passed a hand through his hair, because if Dig had put it like that it sounded BAD. He huffed a laugh of embarrassment.

“Oh, wow. This is going to sound weird, but what I noticed was this.” He looked down at her left hand and took it in one of his own lightly. “I was stuck in rush hour traffic Tuesday night; I was in the car behind you, and your hand was...dancing out the window. It made me smile.”

She looked up at him in wonder, a smile of her own beginning to form.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” He smiled.

A crinkle of worry formed between her brows, and Oliver had the sudden urge to smooth it out with his fingers, but he resisted.

“This hand seems to have caused you a lot of problems,” she said sadly.

He placed his other hand on top of hers and squeezed gently.

“It’s been totally worth it.”

————————————————————————

Diggle’s phone rang as the last dog was being unloaded. He finished his instructions to the man in charge and answered.

“Johnny.”

Lyla had that tone in her voice; the one that told him he probably wouldn’t like what he was about to hear. He told her to go on.

“As you suspected, ARGUS is very interested in the Russian twist to your little problem, and they have assigned an agent to be undercover at the dinner tonight.”

John went hot and cold all at once, because he suddenly understood the reason for her tone of voice.

“It’s you,” he said, with certainty.

“I tried to get out of it, but Waller wouldn’t hear it. I’m sorry if this is awkward.”

John rubbed a hand over his face. “No, it’s fine. It’s fine. Dinner’s at seven.”

“Johnny, there’s one more thing,” Lyla continued, and he could actually HEAR the cringe in her voice.

“I’ll need a date.”

—————————————————————————

Oliver was just ushering Felicity ahead of him out of the closet when he heard a familiar voice yelling his name in the hall.

“Tommy?”

His friend was standing in the doorway to Thea’s bedroom, and he got a very knowing look in his eye when he saw Oliver and Felicity.

“Well hello there,” he said, in typical Tommy fashion. “What the hell did I just interrupt,” he continued with a sly grin.

“Nothing,” Oliver shut him down. “Felicity, this is Tommy Merlyn. Tommy, Felicity Smoak. She works at QC.”

“Which doesn’t explain what you were doing, but nice to meet you all the same,” Tommy countered, taking her hand and bowing down to kiss it dramatically while Felicity blushed fiercely.

“We were in the closet,” Oliver explained, and then immediately regretted it.

“AHA! I always suspected, but never had proof,” his friend kidded. Oliver rolled his eyes, maneuvering Felicity as they walked so that he ended up between her and Tommy.

“She’s staying with us unexpectedly and needed to borrow something to wear. It’s no big deal,” Oliver explained with a warning look at his best friend.

“Oh,” Felicity said suddenly, “I forgot to grab a dress for tonight.” She looked up at Oliver with concern. He smiled back at her.

“Get cleaned up and I’ll send Dig up to go back with you,” he said as they reached her room and the man assigned to stand guard. “I want to be surprised,” he added softly, mostly to her, and ignored Tommy’s eyebrow that rose up into his hairline.

They watched her disappear and then Oliver moved them on down the hall.

“Hey, is there a party tonight? You know how I love parties.”

“Not this time,” Oliver replied, steering Tommy to the front door in a not-so-subtle hint. 

Diggle was standing outside on the top step, looking like he’d just seen a ghost.

“Sir,” he said to Oliver, being unusually formal all of a sudden, “we have a situation.”


	21. Chapter 21

“A date,” Oliver repeated, as Diggle stared him down. He was pretty sure he’d never seen his bodyguard so shook. Oliver looked down at the ground before he continued.

“Well, do you—“

“NO. Absolutely not.”

“Okay.”

“I’m a bodyguard, not an actor.”

“Right.”

“And with my ex wife? That would be a very bed idea. BAD. Bad idea. Oh my god.”

Diggle was falling apart right in front of his eyes. Oliver clapped a hand onto his shoulder.

“Okay, calm down. We’ll think of something.”

“Hey guys, is it too early for drinking? ‘Cause I’m thinking I haven’t been to a Saturday afternoon skinny dip in the Queen’s pool for way too long.”

Oliver and Diggle both shifted their gazes to Tommy at the other end of the porch. They gave him a good long stare, then looked back at each other.

“Well,” Oliver began.

Diggle closed his eyes for two long breaths.

“There are so many things wrong with that idea, I don’t even know where to start.”

“Then we’re agreed. Tommy,” Oliver called. “Wanna stay for dinner?”

—————————————————————————

John drove a golf cart to the maintenance barn at the back edge of the property to check in with Frank, but his heart wasn’t in it. His focus was shot to hell with this Lyla business, and he was really getting worried about being on his game tonight when it mattered. 

Hinting about wanting to see her over the phone was one thing; being in the same room with her when everyone’s lives were on the line was another story entirely.

Frank met him at the door. He and his team had secured their mystery assailant in the back of the barn out of sight; for safe keeping, as Frank put it. As an extra layer of security they had decided to keep any discussion of their guest off comms.

“Has he said anything,” Diggle asked, and Frank gave a noncommittal shrug.

“He said I suck at asking questions. But I’m going to keep practicing.”

John watched him for any sign of irony, sarcasm, anything, but Frank stared back at him like he was watching paint dry. 

“Will you have enough help here if I pull you up to the house for the dinner?”

Frank nodded, and Diggle turned to go; he needed to see about helping a girl pick out a dress, apparently.

“If he starts singing, give me a call.”

————————————————————————

“So,” Tommy began, in that voice he used when he was about to broach a subject that was going to become uncomfortable for Oliver very quickly, “the blonde.”

“Fel-ic-ity,” Oliver corrected immediately, non-plussed, “is an employee of QC. End of story.”

Tommy spun himself around in the inner tube with a larger splash than was absolutely necessary and Oliver, sitting on the edge of the pool, leaned aside to avoid the spray with a frown.

“A beautiful employee who’s spending the weekend at the CEO’s mansion...without clothes. I see. Where is the CEO today, anyway? Does SHE know you’re offering naked employee field trips?”

Oliver rubbed a hand over his face and briefly considered drowning him.

“Mom’s in New York with Thea. And yes, Thea knows that Felicity is wearing her clothes.”

Tommy chuckled wickedly.

“I am SO glad I came over today.”

Oliver sighed; he and Diggle had consulted very briefly about whether or not Tommy should be let in on the Bratva twist to their upcoming evening, but both had agreed that he was too unpredictable to entrust with Lyla’s secret identity and Felicity’s backstory.

And what Tommy Merlyn might choose to say to a high ranking member of the Russian mob was anyone’s guess. Oliver raked both hands through his hair. Better to let him think this was just a business deal. 

———————————————————————-

“Tell me,” Felicity demanded as soon as she opened her door and saw John’s face. 

He gestured for her to join him in the hallway with a sigh and she looped her arm through his as they walked together down to Thea’s room.

“ARGUS is sending an undercover agent to dinner tonight.”

“AND IT’S YOUR EX WIFE,” she guessed, yelling in triumph and fist pumping with her free hand. John was not amused.

“Well I want to meet her,” she continued, defending her excitement with a pout in response to his Very Frowny Face. “She must be amazing if you married her.”

John started to look faintly pleased with himself before she added, “Plus you still love her.”

“That’s—Felicity, I don’t want to—it’s complicated,” he blustered as they stepped into Thea’s closet and Felicity executed a little happy dance.

“Anyway, what makes you so sure?”

She leveled her gaze at him and stuck a hand on one hip.

“Her picture is still on your nightstand and some of her stuff is in the medicine cabinet.”

“Nobody likes a know-it-all,” he grumbled, refusing to be swayed by her adorable grin.

“This is going to be so great,” he heard her crow to herself as she disappeared around the corner to fetch the dresses she’d picked out earlier. John pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

She reappeared with three dresses on hangers and held each one up for his inspection. Apparently being able to match lingerie sets gave her the impression that he would be good at this too, John thought with mild concern.

“They’re all nice,” he offered lamely, and Felicity huffed in exasperation. She looked each one over again with a critical eye.

“He said he wanted to be surprised,” she muttered to herself, and heat suddenly rose in Diggle’s face. Oh HELL no.

“I like the gold one,” he said with a growl, because it covered the most skin.

Felicity must have missed his tone, because she nodded her agreement and put the others back.

He walked her back to her room, acknowledged his guy on the door, and checked his watch.

“It’s almost six.”

She smiled a little nervously.

“Time to make some magic.”


	22. Chapter 22

The doorbell rang at 6:30. Oliver answered it himself after giving a fortifying glance to his bodyguard.

Lyla Michaels looked stunning. John swallowed once as she stepped through the door in a little black dress and heels for days. Not very practical, those heels. And not many places to conceal a firearm either—John cursed inwardly and shut THAT line of thought down IMMEDIATELY. 

Oliver kissed her cheek and then introduced her to Tommy, who responded in his usual charming way. Dig concentrated on staring a hole into the back of the billionaire’s skull until everyone’s attention suddenly turned to him.

He made his feet carry his body toward her, then took her hand and bussed her cheek like she was merely an acquaintance and not the love of his life.

“Hi Johnny,” she said softly, trying to look him in the eye and avoid his gaze at the same time. It was a strange sort of consolation to know that she was having as much trouble with this as he.

Oliver was just about to suggest that they head to his office for drinks when movement at the top of the stairs caught his eye. His head tilted ever so slightly and he advanced to the foot of the stairs, his eyes never leaving their target.

Felicity Smoak was making her way down the stairs, bodyguard in tow, in a short gold metallic dress that hugged all her curves. Her hair was down and straightened, but curling softly at the ends. She looked like an angel.

John suppressed a groan: So much for picking out a safe dress. 

Felicity smiled under her lashes at Oliver as he held out a hand for her to take when she reached the bottom.

“Is this okay,” she asked him in a whisper, the fingers of one hand ghosting over the hemline self-consciously.

“You look perfect,” he whispered back, and her smile grew. 

Oliver gathered up Lyla on his other side and escorted both women down the hall. Tommy waited for Diggle to catch up, then leaned in conspiratorially.

“Hey, who’s the brunette? She’s pretty cute—“

“She’s my ex wife.”

“—who I will never speak to again. Ever.”

John didn’t bother to hold back his tight-lipped smile as they headed down the hall. 

Tommy manned the bar and soon everyone—with the exception of Diggle—had a drink in hand. 

Oliver left Felicity to keep Tommy busy at the bar and pulled Lyla with him to John’s side for a quick word.

“The guy who attacked Felicity this morning is Kuttler’s man,” Diggle confirmed, and Oliver’s free hand fisted in anger.

“Whatever leverage you intend to use with the Bratva, now’s the time to have it in hand,” Lyla advised softly.

The ARGUS agent was only pretending to sip her drink, but Oliver knocked his back in one go and she shot John a questioning look.

As Oliver crossed the room to the safe concealed behind a cabinet door John gave her a reassuring nod. He knew his boss’s tolerance level for alcohol, and one drink was nowhere near a problem. 

He returned to them with a flat file folder in his hand; there couldn’t be more than two pieces of paper inside it.

“That’s it,” she asked, faintly skeptical.

“That’s it.”

“I hope it’s enough,” she said then, glancing between Oliver and John. “What about him?” She tilted her head towards the bar where it appeared that Tommy was trying to read Felicity’s palm. She laughed out loud at some witty thing he said, and Oliver frowned.

“He thinks this is a business dinner,” Oliver murmured. “Short of guns being drawn, he shouldn’t be a problem.” Oliver caught Diggle’s eye and shrugged one shoulder faintly.

John’s attention was diverted for a moment as the gatehouse communicated through his earpiece.

“They’re coming up the drive,” he relayed.

————————————————————————-

Oliver chose to greet his guest outside on the steps of the mansion. He was flanked by Diggle and Jeff; Frank was inside with the others. 

A long black limousine with tinted windows pulled under the awning and two enormous men emerged from the front. The one driving walked around the back of the car as the other opened the rear passenger door. Oliver felt a buzz of nervous energy under his skin.

Anatoly Knyazev climbed out of the car in a charcoal suit and a blood red tie. He was not a tall man, and the giants on either side of him didn’t help, but he had an air of command and respect about him all the same. 

He jogged up the steps to Oliver and stuck out a hand in greeting. He had a crushing grip, and Oliver’s chin lifted slightly in acknowledgement.

Anatoly’s face split into a grin then, and Diggle tried not to react when he suddenly grabbed Oliver in a hug with a kiss on each cheek.

“Oliver Queen! Your father was great man. Very great man. It is good to meet you.”

His accent was heavy but his English clear, and Oliver couldn’t help wanting to like him. His own father had often been a mystery to him, and a part of Oliver was intrigued to know about this man’s interactions with Robert Queen.

He led the way into the house, engaging Anatoly in small talk until they reached the dining room where the rest of their party was waiting.

Oliver made the introductions, keeping them as vague as possible without sounding suspicious. Lyla had attached herself to Tommy, trying to give the impression that they were a couple without being overly obvious about it, although John noticed Tommy glancing at him now and again, gauging his reaction.

Anatoly seemed particularly taken with Felicity, and Oliver fought down the urge to take her hand in his as they made their way to their seats. 

The first course was served immediately, and Oliver was suddenly thankful for Tommy, who charmed his way around the table and kept the mood light. It was especially necessary in a room ringed by two of his guest’s scowling bodyguards, and three of his own. 

Raisa had outdone herself with the Russian menu, and Anatoly proclaimed every dish a masterpiece. He drank copious amounts of vodka with each course, but neither his demeanor nor his volume ever changed. 

Their Russian guest spent much of the meal engaging Felicity in conversation, and despite the situation and the uncertainty of her immediate future, she responded like a brilliant ray of sunshine; Oliver caught himself tuning out Tommy’s chatter and focusing on Felicity’s face when she laughed, the curve of her neck as it glowed in the candlelight.

She did a funny impression of a pop star that caused Anatoly to hold his sides with laughter and made Oliver’s face break into a grin. He and the Bratva boss were both caught in her spell, and for a moment he hoped the evening would never end. 

But when dessert and coffee were laid out Anatoly cleared his throat and directed his gaze at Oliver. 

“So, Oliver,” (it sounded like Ah-lee-ver), “I understand that you would like to make deal.”

Oliver saw Tommy sit back in his peripheral vision and resisted the urge to glance away from his guest. He suspected breaking eye contact with a mob boss could lead to trouble. He smiled instead.

“Perhaps we’d be more comfortable in my office,” he offered. 

Anatoly planted his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his folded hands, as if deep in thought.

“I am enjoying your dining room very much.” His eyes swept the other guests before coming back to rest on Oliver. 

“What is it that you want from Bratva, Oliver Queen?”


	23. Chapter 23

Tommy Merlyn was having a fine evening. The food was excellent, the conversation stimulating, and the puzzle of John Diggle’s ex wife’s apparent interest in him was keeping his brain occupied while Oliver concentrated his attention on the Russian dude. 

That Felicity was quite the charmer as well; it was no wonder his best friend was already a goner, but he wondered what in the world she could see in him. Had she ever SEEN the tabloids?

So many mysteries, so little wine. Well, actually, there was lots and lots of wine, so when Anatoly started in about making a deal Tommy leaned back and relaxed. 

————————————————————————

At the word “Bratva” Oliver’s heart rate picked up, because here we go. He saw Tommy’s eyes shift to him briefly, but otherwise he didn’t move a muscle, which was curious.

Felicity, on the other hand, stiffened as if she’d just remembered where she was and that this charming man next to her essentially held her life in his hands. He didn’t dare spare her so much as a reassuring look; he needed the Russian’s focus on him for as long as possible. 

“Your organization has been doing business with Noah Kuttler,” Oliver began. “Kuttler is Felicity’s father, and he has been pressuring her to work with him, in opposition to her wishes. This morning he went so far as to attempt to kidnap her from this property; we have the man in our custody and he has confessed his intentions.

“We are requesting assistance from the Bratva convincing Kuttler to walk away from his daughter; to drop his pursuit of her and to stay out of her life.”

Anatoly gave him a shrug of non-comittal.

“What is wrong, working with Bratva?” He smiled wolfishly. “We can be nice guys.”

Oliver nodded slowly without breaking eye contact.

“She would prefer not.”

Anatoly glanced at the woman in question, but her eyes were riveted on Oliver. It didn’t look like she was even breathing.

“And what do you have that would be of interest to Bratva? Or do you expect this to be favor?”

Oliver lifted his right hand without looking away and Diggle stepped forward and placed the file folder in his hand. With a small pause for dramatic effect he laid it in the middle of the table and slid it forward, unopened, toward the Russian.

Anatoly’s eyes dropped to the offering and he stared at it for a long moment. He did not touch it. His eyes flicked back up to Oliver and he assumed a story teller’s demeanor.

“Your father was not Bratva, but he was fine associate. He saved my life once—“ he teeter-tottered one hand briefly— “in round about way. But shortly before he died he tried to get out of our...arrangement. He said he had information that he would keep quiet as long as we left him—and all Queen family—alone.

“Bratva does not like blackmail, but since he was dead, well, we let it go for time being.”

His eyes dropped again to the file and then returned to Oliver.

“Leverage only will work once, young Mr Queen.”

Oliver nodded slowly again, silent.

And then Tommy stood up.

—————————————————————————

At the word “Bratva” all thoughts of booze and women flew out the window and Tommy went cold. His eyes betrayed him, flicking to Oliver, but otherwise he managed to school his reaction. 

His best friend didn’t seem surprised in the least, didn’t even react when Felicity suddenly froze and tried to stare right through him.

Lyla didn’t react either, which was also very interesting.

At Noah Kuttler’s name Tommy began to put some pieces together. Merlyn Global didn’t directly compete with Kord Industries, but all high-level executives tended to run in the same circles, and Kuttler was no different. 

In their few brief encounters Tommy had found him faintly slimy, and trying a bit too hard to break into the higher echelons of Starling City society. 

He let his gaze rest on Felicity and tried to figure out what skills she possessed that her father would be interested in; possibly the fact that she worked at QC was all he needed. 

Tommy snapped his attention back to the conversation, as Oliver had just dropped a very thin file folder on the table. It looked like he was willing to give up whatever advantage his father had gained before his death for this girl; Oliver was more of a goner than he’d first thought. 

He lowered his gaze to his hand on the table that was fiddling with a spoon and quickly ran through his options. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Oliver nod and he made up his mind.

He pushed back his chair and stood up. 

————————————————————————-

After that several things happened at once.

Both of Anatoly’s bodyguards, who were standing behind him, took one step forward and drew their guns. In sync. As if they shared a brain.

Diggle, Jeff, and Frank also went on high alert, but only Dig put a hand on his weapon.

Felicity saw Dig’s gun come out and gasped, just like she had every other time she’d ever seen it, which, admittedly, was a lot.

Lyla put one hand on Tommy’s chair, as if she meant to stop him. The other dropped quietly into her lap; she was probably fishing for her gun as well.

Oliver only moved his eyes to his best friend, because Anatoly hadn’t so much as twitched, and he was doing his best to mirror him. 

And Raisa, who had just walked in to the room to see if anybody needed anything, immediately turned around and walked right back out. 

“Tommy,” Oliver warned quietly, completely at a loss as he tried to figure out what his friend was thinking.

Tommy’s hands came up almost casually, and he kept them in sight as he slowly stepped behind Lyla and then around the end of the table to Anatoly’s side. 

The goons shifted his way a step, but then Anatoly raised a hand and they froze in place, watchful.

Tommy continued to saunter into the Bratva boss’s vicinity, and when he’d reached the chair to the man’s left he pulled it out and sat down with his body facing toward the wall behind Anatoly. 

He shifted over slowly and spoke in the man’s ear in a volume so low that even Felicity, seated on Anatoly’s other side, couldn’t make out the words.

The Russian’s face didn’t change at first, but then Oliver thought he saw a gleam come into his eye for just a moment. He nodded once, very briefly, and Tommy stood and returned, just as casually, to his original place at the table.

Anatoly clasped his hands in front of him on the tabletop and smiled.

“Bratva can help you with your Noah Kuttler problem, Oliver.” He pushed the file folder, still unopened, back across the table. “You keep information. Maybe you can use at later date.”

————————————————————————

Not everyone relaxed at once, but Felicity whooshed out a breath and slumped in her seat like she’d just run a marathon. That girl was going to need a vacation when this was all over, a part of Diggle’s brain noted.

A glance back from their boss set the Russian bodyguards at ease, and Diggle slowly returned his gun to its holster. Jeff and Frank went back to looking like statues on either side of him.

Oliver was trying to regain his equilibrium without looking obvious; he finally nodded to Anatoly in acknowledgment and gratitude, and then his glance flicked to Felicity, who looked spent.

Tommy he ignored, for the time being, because the competing urges to hug him and strangle him were almost overwhelming.

The man himself had gone back to his careless playboy pose, the one he brought out especially for parties, even pouring himself another glass of wine with a rock-steady hand.

He took a long sip and smiled happily.

“Who’s up for a game of pool?”


	24. Chapter 24

Two hours later, the mood in Oliver’s office had lightened considerably.

Tommy and Anatoly were shooting pool and knocking back vodka like it was tap water. The Russian’s bodyguards had relaxed enough to start up a game of poker with Jeff and Frank; Frank, owner of the world’s best poker face, was skinning them all alive.

Lyla and Diggle were standing together at the bar in deep conversation. They weren’t touching, exactly, but Lyla had kicked off her shoes and looked tiny and adorable next to her ex husband’s huge frame. Dig looked like Christmas morning.

Felicity was snuggled into Oliver’s side on the huge couch, her shoes gone and her feet tucked up under her, cradling a glass of wine in her hands. One of Oliver’s arms was slung over her shoulders and down her side; the other busied itself with a bottle of beer. 

They had been talking non-stop for the last hour, but a comfortable silence had lately fallen over them, and Oliver was enjoying that just as much.

A cheer and a groan followed by uproarious laughter broke out from the pool table, and   
Oliver swiveled his head around to watch Dig and Lyla cross the room to join the next game with Anatoly while Tommy walked over and plopped onto the couch next to Oliver, bottle of vodka in hand.

The two friends clinked their bottles together in greeting, and Felicity giggled at the sight. They had yet to really speak since dinner; it was obvious Oliver had a million questions, and Tommy was grinning at him from ear to ear.

Oliver gave his best friend a knowing look and grinned himself. It was possible the alcohol was finally getting to him.

“So, Tommy, how did you get to be recruited by the Bratva?” Tommy laughed and gestured expansively.

“Well, what can I say? My penchant for Russian models got a little out of hand one night, and the next thing you know...”

They all laughed, and Oliver tugged Felicity a little closer to his side; she leaned her head on his shoulder.

Tommy’s face turned more serious.

“Malcolm Merlyn, how else,” he said, in a much lower tone of voice. He leaned forward slightly and caught Felicity’s eye with an understanding wink. “You’re not the only one with an evil father, kiddo.”

“Had you never met Anatoly before,” Oliver asked quietly, still trying to wrap his head around the events of the night. Tommy shook his head no.

“I’ve been mostly working out of Central City—“ He caught Oliver’s look of realization and nodded— “The Merlyn Global merger with Star Labs was just my cover.”

“I KNEW you couldn’t possibly be in charge of that,” Oliver ribbed playfully.

“Anatoly was recently re-assigned to Starling from the East coast,” he finished quietly. “It’s just a strange—and lucky—coincidence that I happened to be invited to the right party at the right time.” He clapped a hand onto Oliver’s knee.

“Now you can keep your father’s blackmail information tucked away for an emergency,” he continued brightly, “because Anatoly and I will take care of everything.” He grinned wickedly. “Noah Kuttler is about to find out that getting caught for tax evasion SUCKS.”

———————————————————————-

An hour after that Anatoly finished whipping his bodyguards at pool and strolled across the room to the bar, behind which Tommy was holding court. Felicity was perched on a bar stool and Oliver leaned next to her; their shoulders were touching. 

Dig and Lyla were also there, and everyone was laughing as Oliver and Tommy took turns telling embarrassing stories about each other. Dig decided that Oliver was more than a little drunk, because he usually didn’t share so freely. Tommy, on the other hand, never needed a reason.

Anatoly came to a stop at Felicity’s side and leaned in. She was fairly tipsy herself, and before anyone else could react she turned to him and said, “You’re cute,” and booped his nose.

The group at the bar fell into shocked silence, until Anatoly dissolved into side-splitting laughter and chucked her under the chin. Then everybody broke up.

“You are my new favorite American,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. Then he took her hand and looked deep into her eyes.

“I need you to do favor,” he said, quite seriously.

Oliver, Diggle, and Tommy were suddenly all on alert, and the room got very quiet. Felicity nodded slowly.

“You are...what they say...hacker?” Felicity froze for a second, eyes flicking to Dig’s down the bar, then nodded again.

Anatoly latched a hand onto her arm.

“Come with me.”

————————————————————————

Oliver shifted his weight away from the bar, seriously wishing he’d said no to that last beer, and the one before that, because the mood in the room had suddenly turned serious, and he was processing pretty slowly at the moment. 

Diggle was in much better shape, although he’d given in a couple of hours earlier and started drinking since Frank was still on the job. The two exchanged concerned looks, and Diggle quietly moved around Lyla to place himself a little closer to Anatoly, hoping he wasn’t worrying the Bratva men.

Felicity slipped off of the barstool onto bare feet with a glance over her shoulder at Oliver. He in turn shot a look to Tommy, who was still smiling, though his eyes were watching Anatoly like a hawk.

He moved around the bar and came to stand on Felicity’s other side, catching Anatoly’s eye and trying to gauge the mood of the Bratva boss.

“Can I come too,” Tommy asked pleasantly, not losing eye contact with Anatoly. The Russian waved a hand around vaguely.

“Sure, sure, you come too. Come. Come on.”

He pulled Felicity across the room to the door with Tommy on her other side. Oliver took one step to follow, but Diggle said his name quietly and he halted; a glance across the room told him Anatoly’s bodyguards weren’t nearly as drunk as he was. Dammit.

Tommy glanced back as he disappeared around the door, giving a reassuring nod to Oliver. With Anatoly gone, the bodyguards suddenly looked like lost puppies, standing uncertainly with pool cues still in their giant mitts.

Oliver abandoned his beer and raked a hand through his hair. Dig and Lyla didn’t look any less concerned.

“What if he...” Oliver trailed off, because the list of things a Bratva boss could do was long and exotic. 

Diggle eased forward and put a hand on Oliver’s shoulder.

“I never thought in a million years that I would say this, but I think Tommy has it under control,” Diggle soothed. Lyla gave a small nod of agreement and the two helped steer Oliver to the couch to wait. 

———————————————————————-

Twenty minutes of imagining the worst passed before the door opened again and all three of them stepped inside the room.

Oliver surged to his feet when Felicity came into view, but she gave him a soft little smile that told him everything was alright.

“I am going. Thank you for wonderful evening, Oliver. Good night.” Anatoly motioned for his men, who were deceptively fast, because the three of them were heading out the door before Oliver had time to cross the room to Felicity and pull her close.

The group trailed out of the room behind the Russians, coming to a stop at the top of the front steps. Anatoly shook hands all around and kissed the ladies, then whispered something in Tommy’s ear that made him bark a laugh before descending the steps to the limo. 

Oliver leaned down to Felicity—which was a long way when she wasn’t wearing heels—as they watched the limousine wheel around the courtyard and head down the drive.

“What did he ask you to do,” he asked softly.

She looked up at him with a barely-suppressed grin.

“He had me photoshop his former mistress out of all his pictures.”

Oliver huffed a delighted laugh and swept her up in a hug, floored that the insanity of the past few days should culminate in that moment. She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her forehead into his chest and humming in contentment.

He thought he might just like to stay that way for the rest of the night, or forever, but someone cleared their throat nearby and they reluctantly pulled apart.

“Time for bed, kids,” Tommy teased gently, looping an arm through one of Oliver’s and turning them both toward the front door.

“We don’t want to be in the way,” he added softly, tipping his head briefly to the far end of the porch where John and Lyla were standing. 

————————————————————————

Diggle watched them leave from the corner of his eye, but most of his attention was on the woman in front of him, who was holding both of his hands and smiling at him softly.

“I had a really great time tonight,” Lyla started to say, but by the time she got through the sentence they both realized how crazy that sounded—considering she had been undercover, pretending to be a billionaire’s date at a Bratva dinner with the mayor of Starling City and her ex husband—and they both dissolved into laughter. 

“Thank you for everything,” he replied, squeezing her fingers gently. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“You know,” she said then, suddenly too shy to look at him, “I’ve discovered that there are a lot of things I can’t do without you either.” John’s heart skipped a beat and he held his breath as she looked him in the eye. “Like...move on, for instance.”

John’s mouth went dry, and while he was fumbling to form “I-never-stopped-loving-you-and-I-want-you-back-as-soon-as-humanly-possible” into actual spoken words Lyla surged up on her tiptoes and kissed him.

It was like coming home.

It was several minutes before either one of them spoke again, but it was Lyla who finally broke the silence.

“Do you still have a cottage on the grounds,” she asked quietly, and he thought he might die of happiness right on the spot.

“Are you sure...there was a lot of drinking tonight...” he fumbled, wanting this more than he could say, but not like THAT.

Lyla leveled her gaze at him.

“Your boss and his friends did a lot of drinking tonight, Mr Diggle. I am stone cold sober.”

John nodded dumbly, still trying to believe his great good fortune.

“Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, taking her hand and leading the way.

—————————————————————————

Oliver and Tommy climbed the stairs on either side of Felicity; no one felt the need to say anything. They walked three abreast down the hall until they reached Felicity’s door. She leaned her shoulder against it and smiled sleepily up at Oliver. 

Although he wanted to do much more, he contented himself with taking her hand and bringing it to his lips for a sweet goodnight kiss. In return she gave him a lazy smile filled with so much potential he felt it in his heart and various other places besides.

“G’night, Tommy,” she said as she slipped around the door, although her eyes were solely on Oliver.

“Night, kiddo. Sweet dreams.”

The door closed and the two friends regarded each other for a long moment.

“You staying over,” Oliver asked casually as they turned to continue down the hall.

“You betcha. I got here in the mutt mobile, remember?” Oliver’s yawn was his only response.

“Besides,” Tommy continued, “by tomorrow morning the news should be out about Noah Kuttler’s unfortunate bookkeeping, and I, for one, would like to watch it on all nine of your TVs at the same time.”

Oliver waved Tommy to a guest room, then continued on. He was at his own door when he suddenly thought of Felicity’s attacker still being housed somewhere on the property.

“What about Kuttler’s guy,” he called out softly with a concerned look.

Tommy shrugged. “I think there should be plenty of room for him in the back of the van with the doggos tomorrow morning, don’t you?”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was going to be a short Olicity Meet Cute, but it took another direction, as stories often do. There could be many more chapters, since Oliver and Felicity have really just met, but we already know how that story goes, because they will always find each other. 
> 
> In the end I decided to go back to the main relationship in this story, the one I didn’t plan to write about, and the one I had the most fun discovering. 
> 
> I love the ending, it made me cry; I hope you love it too. (Try listening to Tim Halperin’s Always Be My Baby while you read it, if you dare!)
> 
> Thanks for reading!

FIVE YEARS LATER

“Johnny, I really don’t think this is the best use of our time.”

Diggle did not reply, continuing to navigate through the streets of Starling City at a speed that skated just over the legal limit. Lyla sighed in exasperation, not for the first time that day.

In the backseat, three-year-old JJ was attempting to take off all of his clothes while strapped into his car seat; his twin sister Sara sat next to him, quietly dismantling the flower ball she had somehow managed to reach when no one was looking.

John double parked on the street and jumped out, taking the stairs two at a time to the apartment. They rarely used it these days, and he noticed it smelled a little dusty and stale as he let himself in.

He found the bottle in the cabinet above the fridge, right where he expected it to be. He hurried back out to the car and carefully handed it over to Lyla as he got in.

“Still plenty of time,” he chanted to himself as he drove out of the city.

————————————————————————

When they first asked him to be in the wedding party John thought he would have to decline, due to the size and scope of the security job. But then Lyla had told him to get his head out of his ass and let Frank run the show for once, so that’s what he did.

Both the ceremony and reception were being held at the mansion, which made some of the security issues less complicated, but he had not anticipated the line of traffic waiting to get through the gates when they finally pulled up.

John kept the profanity inside his head for the sake of the children, or rather out of fear that they would pick up another swear word from him, and rang Frank up.

“It’s Diggle. I need some interference, man. At the front gates.”

Three minutes later Jeff rolled down to the gates in a golf cart. Diggle ditched the car by the side of the road and he and Lyla loaded themselves up with children, totebags, flowers—that damn bottle of wine—and all of JJ’s jettisoned clothes they could find.

The kids loved the ride, screaming with delight as they zipped up through the lawn parallel to the driveway. Lyla was windswept, and her long billowy skirt flew about everywhere as she clutched Sara in her lap; John thought she had never looked more beautiful. He caught her eye and she gave him a smile and an amused eye roll. 

Jeff dropped them at the house and they hauled everything inside so that Lyla could get JJ dressed again and try to salvage something of the flower ball. John wanted to stay and help, since it was his stupid forgetfulness that had made them late in the first place, but Lyla pressed the bottle into his hands and spun him toward the stairs.

“Go,” she ordered, and he obeyed.

———————————————————————-

The irony of finding her once again in Thea’s closet was not lost on him. He stood for a moment in the doorway, because the sight of her took his breath away.

Felicity saw him reflected in the mirror and turned around, her petite frame encased in a cloud of tulle and lace, her hair twisted up and dotted with pearls. 

“Dig,” she said softly, and he pushed forward with a lump in his throat. As he reached her he stopped, momentarily tongue tied, and focused his gaze on the gift in his hands.

“You—“ he cleared his throat and swallowed and continued unsteadily—“you said it had to be a special occasion. I think this qualifies.”

Her eyes immediately filled with tears as he handed the bottle of wine over, and he thought he would seriously lose his cool. Felicity cradled it in her arms for a moment, a thumb smoothing over the label, then laid it down gently on the ottoman and turned back to him with a watery smile. 

The crazy thing about a wedding dress, he remembered from experience, was that on the most emotional day of your life it was practically impossible to get close without messing something up.

John abandoned the idea of giving her a giant hug until later and cupped her face gently with his hands instead, leaning down to kiss her forehead. 

“Ready to go,” he asked her in a voice gone husky. 

Felicity nodded with a brilliant, confident smile and took his arm, and Diggle prepared to give his girl away.


End file.
